


Hobbit Magic

by thedisgruntledone



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-01-06 13:19:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 47,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedisgruntledone/pseuds/thedisgruntledone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hobbit with a Practical Magic twist. Every hobbit in the Shire knows about the Took Curse - anyone so foolish as to love a member of the Took clan is fated to die. This curse has kept one Bilbo Baggins from engaging in any sort of relationship that might turn romantic, for fear of the Curse taking them as it did his father. He firmly plans on staying alone forever, fortifying his walls with a list of the qualities his perfect mate must possess. However, he never counted on the will of a wizard, a company of dwarves desperate to reclaim their home, or meeting the one being in Middle-Earth who might just fit all of his criteria.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the Hobbit kink meme on LJ:
> 
> Other than their general lack of propriety the Tooks are also rumoured to get every spouse of theirs killed through one way or another (up to the filler if the curse remains female-specific or applies to all Tooks). So although tragic, Bungo's eventual death was seen as exactly that, eventual for having married a Took lass. And just as expected, soon after him, Belladonna herself died of a broken heart.
> 
> Everyone assumes that young Bilbo will avoid the curse on account of him going by the name of Baggins, but then the quest happens and Bilbo himself is starting to doubt whether his unexpected feelings for the dwarf king/prince are the reason for all their troubles...

When both of Bilbo’s parents died, he was still very young and could not live alone, so there were the usual discussions about what was to be done with him.  
  
His relatives all gathered around the large oak table in the kitchen of Bag End, speaking in voices that they thought were hushed but were really perfectly audible enough to the small hobbit listening just outside the room. His mother had always loved big, open sorts of spaces, and Bungo Baggins had taken that into account when he built their home. There were hardly any doors – the only enclosed places were the bedroom and bathrooms, and all the ceilings were high and rounded to give the illusion of a vast space, which resulted in a sort of magnifying effect on noises in said rooms. Thus the crouching, grief stricken Bilbo could hear every word that came out of his relatives mouth’s with incredible clarity.  
  
“He can’t come with us,” his uncle Balbo announced without preamble. “We already have three mouths to feed and can’t afford another, not to mention the space he would take.”   
  
That opened the floodgates. One by one his relatives all insisted that they could not take him in, they had responsibilities and none of them were ready for a grieving hobbitling still so far from his coming of age. Perhaps if he’d been around thirty – even twenty seven wouldn’t be so bad. But at twenty-three, he was still more of a burden than they could bear. 

Listening to this, Bilbo choked back tears. First his parents had left him, and now the rest of his family seemed quite intent on doing so, too. Perhaps, he thought sadly, he could stay at Bag End alone, and they could check up on him every once in a while.  
  
As if she’d heard his thoughts, his aunt Camellia announced, “Wherever the lad does end up, I think it’s quite clear that he’ll need to move out of Bag End, and we can’t leave the house unattended. Longo and I would be more than happy to take care of it until he comes of age, as our house is awfully cramped at the moment, with little Otho always underfoot –“  
  
“-if you’re so set on living in Bag End, Camellia, then perhaps you should take Bilbo. I doubt he’d want to leave his home, after all.” The voice was soft, sweet, but there was steel underneath. One of the Great Aunt Tooks, then. The Great Aunt Tooks were a pair of sisters that lived just outside of Bree. Regular Aunts of his mother, they had visited often as she was a great favorite with them. Wilhelmina was boisterous and loud, and would romp with Bilbo for hours trying to catch glimpses of elves in the woods. Rosie was soft spoken and sweet, and would always make sure to bring Bilbo a plate or two of her delicious peanut butter toffee. They were by far his favorite relatives, and if he had to leave Bag End and go with anyone, he wanted it to be them. He knew better than to hope for this, however, for they were very old, if spry, and couldn’t be expected to take in a hobbit that was still ten years from maturity.

“You know we cannot do that,” his other aunt replied stiffly. “Otho doesn’t get along with him – it’d be constant fighting. Do be reasonable. I only think that it would be in the child’s best interest if we lived here until he comes of age. He might not even want it, might decide he’s better off away from all the memories-“  
  
Bilbo could take it no longer. He flung himself into the room and stood before his family, trembling, furious. “I will  _not_  be better off!” he declared hotly. “I don’t belong anywhere else. This is Bag End, my father built it for my mother, and it should always be owned and lived in by a Baggins.” He whirled on his aunt and spat, “ _You_  don’t count, you’re not a proper Baggins at all. I wouldn’t let you stay here if you were the only option in all of Middle-Earth!”  
  
“Well, I  _never_. What a horrible little creature you are. I can’t imagine the kind of upbringing you’ve had if you think it’s okay to speak to your elders in such a way. Did your mother never-“  
  
“ _Don’t you talk about my mother_! My mother was wonderful, and you’re nothing but a rotten old-“  
  
“Bilbo.” The voice cut through his rage easily, and Bilbo met his Aunt Rosie’s gaze. “That is enough.” She never raised her voice, but the disappointment was clear, and Bilbo, finally overcome by the stress of the past few days, burst into tears and fled.   
  
His Aunt Wilhelmina found him in the woods an hour later, no longer crying but curled into a miserable little ball, head buried in his knees. “Oh, Bilbo”, she sighed, and sat beside him.   
  
He would not look at her, he told himself. “I’m not apologizing to her”, he mumbled into his kneecaps. “I can’t.”  
  
“I thought as much.” She sighed again, and shifted slightly. Bilbo could feel her looking at him but still refused to raise his head.   
  
They sat in silence for a long while until he began to feel drowsy, then she said, “I think it’s time we headed back. It will begin to be dark soon and I don’t fancy trying to find my way back to that house of yours in the dark. We’d likely wander around here 'til daylight, completely lost.”  
  
“I can find my way home at all times.” Bilbo bit his lip, then curled his body in even tighter as he asked in a small voice, “Have you decided what you’re going to do with me, then?”  
  
“Yes, quite.”

“Oh” Bilbo waited for more information, and when none came he finally looked up. His aunt very deliberately didn’t look at him, though he knew she was aware of his gaze. “What have you decided, then?”  
  
“To keep you, of course.” She smiled. “As if there were any other way it would go. Rosie and I knew we wanted you from the start, but she thought it would be fair to let the others have a chance as well. Silly notion, if you ask me. We should have just taken you from the beginning and let it stand at that, but she would be polite about it. Well, are you coming or not?”  
  
Bilbo stood, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing. “Then…I’ll be going with you? To Bree?” He didn’t really want to go to Bree, but he did want to be with the Great Aunt Tooks. It was a fair trade, he figured, even if that meant that Bag End would go to someone else.  _But not the Sackville-Bagginses_  he decided firmly.  _Never them_.   
  
“Don’t be silly, what would you do in that tiny shack we live in?” When she saw Bilbo’s face fall at this pronouncement, his aunt gave him a grin and continued, “You’re not to come to us. We’re to come to you.”  
  
And so they did. They were an eccentric pair who believed in brownies for breakfast and  _not_  keeping strict bedtimes, and despite the fact that he missed his parents so much that it ached, Bilbo found himself slowly starting to heal.


	2. Chapter 2

Time passed, and as it did, Bilbo slowly began to reenter the world. Before his parents had died, he had been a happy, outgoing hobbit with several friends. After their deaths he had withdrawn into himself, ignoring everyone and everything in favor of the constant ache in his chest. He’d slept often, gone into rages occasionally, and once or twice burst into tears for no reason. The only people he wanted to talk to were his aunts, and even then very little. As things settled down and moved forward, however, his grief began to be something more bearable, and he started to feel that he wanted the company of his old friends.   
  
Most of them welcomed him back with open arms. He had been sorely missed, being the most imaginative and adventurous among them. Romps outside weren’t as much fun without Bilbo‘s tales of trolls, or his insistence that if they were to go just one hill farther, they might come across a troupe of elf scouts carrying an important message to their king. One or two, however, stayed distant, and Bilbo couldn’t figure out why. He finally asked his best friend one day when they were cooling their feet in the spring.   
  
Hamfast shrugged. “Don’t know,” he said, but he wouldn’t meet Bilbo’s eyes, and he shifted uncomfortably.  
  
Bilbo’s eyes narrowed. “Is it because of my parents? Because they died?”  
  
“No!” He shook his head hard, once, then sighed. “Well, not exactly.”  
  
“Not exactly? It is or it isn’t, Ham, and honestly if they can’t deal with it then maybe it’s better that they don’t speak to me. “  
  
“Okay, it is. It is but it also isn’t. I don’t know how to say it, exactly.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “They’re just...look, some of the adults have been saying stuff, and they’ve picked up on it, is all.”  
  
“The adults?” Bilbo replied, truly bewildered. “What have they been saying?”

  
Hamfast didn’t want to hell him, but Bilbo was persistent, and eventually got it out of him. He went home in a cloud of confusion, and barely ate his dinner, which both of his aunts commented on in worried tones, asking what was wrong.   
  
He looked up at them and bit his lip, then asked hesitantly, “Are the Tooks cursed?”

Both of their eyes widened, then Aunt Wilhelmina’s mouth quirked. “Is that all? Of course we are, sweetheart, but that’s hardly worth worrying over.”  
  
“Wil.”   
  
“Oh, what, he had to find out at some point. Better now than later, is what I say. Better he hears it first from us at least. Are some of your friends talking about it?” Bilbo nodded, miserable. “I thought they might be. People forgot, you see, because Rosie and I have never married, though I did come close once. Then your mother fell in love with your father, and, well, perhaps I better explain it from the beginning…”  
  
That was how Bilbo learned that the Took family was under a curse that had been placed on it centuries ago by a Took who had fallen for an elf. She had been shunned by the other hobbits for falling for one so unlike themselves, and forced to live on the outskirts of society, but she was happy, for she had the love of the one she loved in return. One day he had gone, promising that he would return, but he never did. She’d waited and waited, through autumn, a long winter and part of a spring, before she realized that she was never going to see him again. Furious and heartsick, she had cursed love and all its trappings, vowing that from that moment on, she would never again know what it was to love another. That all the pain of love would be the burden of someone else.  
  
Hobbits have their own special magic. They have a deep connection with the earth that gives them the ability to grow things anywhere, charm almost any animal, and sometimes, in periods of intense emotion, they can cause ripples in the fabric of the world. This Took woman was so ensnared in her grief and rage that her vow sent ripples through her entire family line, causing any poor soul who might find themselves in love with a Took from that point on to suffer an unfortunate, untimely death.

“And we know it’s coming,” Wilhelmina confided to Bilbo, “We are warned. The day before my Marroc met his end all the bees in my garden dropped to the ground. I knew then that we had not escaped the curse.”  
  
Bilbo thought back to just before his father had died. He’d come into the house, face flushed, already chattering happily about his day, to find his mother sitting at the table, staring at a vase which only that morning had contained a beautiful bouquet of roses his father had picked for her. Every rose had wilted, and his mother had been strangely anxious and distracted. Soon after, his father had fallen from their roof and broken his neck.  
  
“Mother died from a broken heart, didn’t she?” he asked. His aunt nodded sadly.  
  
“Yes. She did.”  
  
Late that night, Bilbo found that he couldn’t sleep. He was thinking too much on what had been revealed to him. The real surprising thing about the whole story was just how little surprised he’d been upon hearing it. It had almost been as though he’d known all along that something wasn’t perfectly right about his family. He knew one thing for certain: he never, ever wanted to fall in love. Not if it meant dying of a broken heart and leaving someone behind, like his mother had.   
  
But how to prevent it? Terrified beyond belief at the horrible future he felt was his fate, Bilbo closed his eyes tightly and proceeded to counteract the inevitable the only way he knew how: he fixed in his mind the most impossible mate alive and promised himself that unless he found this one, he would never succumb to the curse of love.   
  
He whispered his qualifications every night into his pillow, always with that same wild terror filling his heart…and the world rippled, though Bilbo was not to know it for some time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and all the kudos! I honestly didn't expect to see this much response so early in, and I'm so glad that you guys like the story so far!

Years passed, and Bilbo grew into a very responsible – perhaps too responsible - adult. He stopped looking for mischief and began instead to look after his garden. He quit trodding mud in the hallway and through the house in favor of polishing his mother’s floors to a pristine shine, and would regularly turn down breakfast brownies in favor of something healthier. No longer did he stay up late and spin wild stories of what lived beyond the Shire, but went to bed at a respectable hour and never made mention of distant lands or faraway places.

His mantra, which he had so often repeated as a child, also fell by the wayside. It was silly, he thought, to repeat such a thing over and over. He still believed that the curse was real – his mother and father had both died, those roses had wilted too fast to be normal, and his aunts weren’t liars – but his list wouldn’t save him from heartache, not really. The only thing that would save him, the new, adult Bilbo decided, was to shut himself off completely to the prospect. He did not engage anyone new. He did not try and make friends with hobbits he did not know. He did not go to dances or parties or town meetings, and he definitely did nothing to appear inviting or available in any way to another soul, not even as a possible friend. The final thing he did was drop the Took hyphen from his last name to become simply Bilbo Baggins.

These changes worried his aunts, and completely baffled his neighbors. Where had the fun loving Bilbo Took-Baggins gone? They’d all thought that he would turn into a decent sort, and had lamented that that Took Curse would wind up destroying his life, but now they wondered if perhaps there were a Baggins Curse as well: the Curse of Stodginess. His neighbors had mostly forgotten the late Bungo Baggins, as his wife had been the vibrant, sensational one, but now that they thought about it, they were sure that he’d been as stuffy and prim as his son; worse, probably. Satisfied, they’d told each other that the one advantage to being such a Baggins was that poor Bilbo would not have to face the Took Curse, even if that one was much more _interesting_.

In what seemed like no time at all, Bilbo had reached the age of maturity, and his aunts offered to go back to Bree and leave give him back his rightful home. He laughed them down easily, saying that Bag End was as much theirs as his for what they’d done for him, and that he could hardly imagine the place without them. So they stayed, and despite predictions by the same nosy neighbors that they would soon be gone (as they weren’t young anymore, understand, and they’d raised Bilbo up _quite_ properly, so what was left for them to do, really?), they lived happily at Bag End for many more years.

Eventually, however, they did both die – oddly enough, within hours of each other. Bilbo came in from one of his walks to find his Aunt Rosie crying over the prone body of her sister. When she saw him she let go of his Aunt Wilhelmina’s hand – she’d been clutching it to her chest – and pulled him into a hard hug. Bilbo had felt his own tears come as she’d cried, and they’d held each other for a while before Aunt Rosie had asked shakily if Bilbo wouldn’t mind taking care of the arrangements for Aunt Wil, as she was very tired and wanted to lie down. Bilbo had agreed and helped her to bed. Just as he was turning away she’d grabbed his hand, hard, and whispered, “Oh, Bilbo, don’t…don’t give up on it just yet. Love is so very, very worth the pain,” and when she failed to wake from her nap, he found that he wasn’t very surprised at all. Bilbo was alone again, and this time there was no family meeting about what was to be done with him. He was old enough to take care of himself.

Even though he’d known it had to happen sometime – the aunts had been old when they’d decided to care for him. Honestly, it was a miracle that they’d lasted as long as they had – their deaths hit Bilbo very hard. He stopped foraying outside at all for months, going out only when he absolutely had to or was forced into it. His hair grew into a long, tangled mess and he barely ate. Without his aunts he was so lonely, so miserable, that withdrawing from the world completely seemed the only way to stop it hurting so much.

Two things pulled him out of this horrible state of depression. The first, good old Hamfast, who had stayed friends with Bilbo even as he had changed into the humorless, fussy hobbit he had become, and whose worry for him increased as the days passed and he was hardly seen. When he did finally clap eyes on the grief-stricken shell that his friend had become, he determined firmly to do something about it. The very next morning he had barged into Bilbo’s house without warning, carrying a basket heavy with food from his own kitchen. He’d placed the food down on the table and immediately begun opening windows and airing out the stale smell that had taken up residence there. He pushed Bilbo into the bath, then sat him down and cut his hair, firmly ignoring the feeble protests and batting aside the waving hands. When that was over, he unpacked his food and fixed a plate for Bilbo, which the other hobbit picked at listlessly. Sitting across from him at the table, Hamfast sighed. He reached out and grabbed Bilbo’s free hand with one of his own.

“It will get better,” he said softly. “I’m not saying it’ll ever go away – it doesn’t do that – but it will get better.”

Bilbo sniffed disdainfully and pulled his hand away. “I know that,” he replied shortly. “I’ve been through this before, or don’t you remember?” He didn’t want Hamfast’s pity. He didn’t want him coming in here and feeding him and then going home and telling his family all about the good deed he’d done for the day, saving the eccentric and unsociable Bilbo Baggins from himself. He wanted to be left alone – he wanted Hamfast to leave.

He didn’t leave, just looked at Bilbo for a minute, then said carefully, “Aye, I remember. I remember a very young hobbit who had someone to take care of him when his parents died. I remember a hobbit who let others close because he liked to be around ‘em, and wanted their company. I remember that he needed friends and his aunts to help him through the grief of losing both parents so young.” He reached out again and squeezed Bilbo’s shoulder gently. “You’re my friend, Bilbo. I wish you’d let me be here for you this time, too.”

Bilbo bit his lip hard, but it was too late, tears were already dripping down his cheeks. “They were all I had,” he whispered. “Now they’re gone.”

The hand on Bilbo’s shoulder tightened. “You had me, as well. Still do, if you want. Things will get better, Bilbo, you know that. It’ll be easier if you let me help.”

He was right. Slowly, Bilbo nodded, then lifted his fork to his mouth.

It took a few more weeks before he felt ready to really face the world again, but in that time he grew to be as close to Hamfast as they’d ever been when they were young. He still wasn’t much for socializing, which he knew would forever brand him “that odd Baggins from Bag End”, but he didn’t mind. He still feared the Took Curse, but as his heart was carefully guarded by his refusal to mix in with the neighborhood as well as his mantra, which he’d picked up again in the wake of his aunt’s deaths – a sort of security blanket against a love that could only result in misery, whether it was worth it or not – he wasn’t as afraid as he’d been before.

The second thing that would pull him out of his state was the will of a very stubborn wizard, but there would be many years yet to come before that happened.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wasn't going to post another chapter today (less because I'm evil and more because I never think what I've written is good enough :D), but you guys have been so wonderful with all the kudos that I couldn't help myself.
> 
> Thank you! And without further adieu...

Bilbo discovered that he was quite prepared for his approaching middle age. While Hamfast wound himself into tighter and tighter knots worrying about his lack of wife and child and legacy, Bilbo settled into the role of grouchy old bachelor as though he’d been doing it his whole life – which in a very real sense, he had. He would often sit outside his home and smoke his pipe, grinning around it as Hamfast paced in front of him muttering about lost opportunities and wasted time. He had no doubt that his friend would find someone to love – Hamfast was built for the comforts of a large family the same way that Bilbo was built for solitude – but until he found her it was amusing to watch.

“Ma and Da were married young – just out of maturity, as it happens. Every last one of my brothers and sisters is married now, even Clara, and you know she was only thirty-four this year. I’m the oldest Gamgee, and I’m the only one who hasn’t settled down. What if I never do? I’ve always thought I would marry – always _wanted_ to marry – but what if it never happens for me?” he ran his hands through his hair in agitation, and Bilbo finally allowed the laughter to escape. Hamfast glared, and he beamed unrepentantly at his friend.

“Oh, you’ll find someone, trust me. No use rushing it, though. Sit, have a smoke. It’ll calm you down, and all your pacing is making me tired.”

Hamfest did marry, of course. A very pretty hobbit lass who smiled and laughed easily and who barged her way into Bilbo’s life much as her husband had, refusing to let his initial standoffishness faze her until Bilbo loved her just as well as he did her husband. And if there was a little bit of longing mixed in with his joy as he saw them wed and witnessed their immense happiness with each other, he pushed it aside firmly. That kind of love had no place in the life of a Took, no matter how attractive his friends made it seem.

Naturally being married kept Hamfast from visiting Bilbo as often as he once had, but he and his wife stopped by enough that he hardly felt the loss. He also withdrew from them a bit, feeling that he might become a burden rather quickly if he didn’t pull back just a little from their newly wedded bliss. As a result he often had his morning pipe alone, and it was on one such morning that the last piece of the puzzle that would change Bilbo Baggins’ life forever locked neatly into place, as Gandalf the Grey’s shadow slid over him.

Bilbo barely remembered Gandalf, but as his house was overrun by dwarves later that night, he thought that if he had, he definitely would have known better than to speak to him at all. He’d have fairly run back into his home without looking back, never mind wishing him a polite good morning. This was what came of politeness, he declared to himself irritably, staring into his decimated pantry. Food, gone. House, destroyed. Comfort, ruined. Even worse, when he tried to assert some authority _in his own home_ , he’d been laughed at. Bilbo didn’t do well with crowds – years of voluntary isolation made his skin crawl whenever he was in a group of more than two or three – and he was already twitchy and cross, so when there came yet another knock on his door he very nearly screamed. Then he noticed how quiet everyone had gotten. They were very nearly reverent at the sound of just that knock, and Bilbo suddenly realized that whoever was left, he must be the leader. He would be the one to talk to and convince to get out of his house. With this in mind, Bilbo fairly ran to the door as Gandalf answered it – only to be brought up short, stunned.

_Eyes blue as the morning sky_ he thought numbly as the dwarf at his door took him in with his gaze. _Black hair, streaked with white_. Gandalf made an introduction, he was asked a question, but Bilbo hardly heard it or his own reply, letting his mouth take over as he hadn’t since he was a much younger hobbit, his mind too caught up in what he was seeing and hearing. _Voice smooth and sweet as honey_. He shivered slightly. He’d imagined a hobbit lass when he’d repeated the words to himself every night, but it didn’t change facts. Whoever this was, he was matching up a little too well with Bilbo’s old mantra for comfort.

While the stranger was being escorted to the newly cleaned kitchen for something to eat, Bilbo managed to hold Gandalf back. “Who is that?” he whispered frantically. “What is his name?”

Gandalf gave him an odd look. “Did you not hear me before? That is Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of our Company.”

_Thorin Oaken…_ Bilbo let out a small, disbelieving laugh and let go of Gandalf’s sleeve. _Strong and steady as the oak tree_. He shook his head and rubbed hard at his eyes. He had to be asleep. That was the only explanation. He’d had an odd encounter in the morning, he’d fallen asleep and he was now dreaming.  Perhaps his pipe weed had been a bit strong and was affecting his dreams, because there was no possible way that this was actually happening, that the fantasy of his mantra was actually very _real_ , very _male_ , and very much in his home.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Thank you so much for the comments and kudos - you have no idea how much I appreciate them!

There was a dragon involved. Of course there was. Bilbo forced down the wild laugh that wanted to burst out of him, his nerves shot. He glanced yet again at Oakenshield, unable to stop himself. It was impossible that he should be here – impossible that he should be so very like the dream that Bilbo had wished up to guard his heart from love, and thus the inevitable pain of loss, but there was no denying the solidity of the dwarf in his little hobbit hole, eating his food and speaking of his own lost home in a low, gravelly voice that caused Bilbo to shiver involuntarily. The presence of the dwarf was doing all sorts of interesting things to his stomach – making it flutter and twist in ways it never had before. Bilbo wasn’t sure he liked it, and it was almost a relief when he realized that everyone thought that he was some sort of burglar, and was to accompany them on their absolutely insane quest to _steal back a kingdom from a dragon_.

_Funny, I don’t remember stupid and suicidal_ _being part of the list of qualifications for my perfect match_ he thought half-hysterically as he looked over the contract Balin had handed him. His head was swimming, and it wasn’t only from the sudden presence of one (impossible) Thorin Oakenshield in his home. They…they wanted him to risk _incineration_? Based on only the word of the wizard who sat studying him with more than a little worry in his eyes? And that same wizard had actually recommended him for this. That was the part that he really couldn’t wrap his head around. Why him, of all the hobbits that Gandalf knew? Was it because he had no one who would miss him if he were to die on this journey?

It was a relief to allow himself to faint, finally, to escape from his whirling thoughts and the penetrating, judging gaze of the exiled King under the Mountain. Bilbo sank into it gratefully, telling himself that when he next opened his eyes, he would be in his bed and find that this had all been some of very strange, very realistic dream brought on by a late dinner and too much of his best pipe weed. When he opened his eyes, however, it was to the sight of twelve very worried faces peering back down at him. Rough hands reached down and pulled him up, the dwarf called Bofur exclaiming cheerfully that he “hadn’t meant to make the little guy faint so” before thumping him on the back in what Bilbo was sure the dwarf thought was a friendly manner but which sent the little hobbit stumbling forward a few steps. Gandalf caught hold of him and led him to a chair, and as they passed Oakenshield Bilbo noted that his was the only pair of eyes that didn’t betray concern for his plight. What those blue eyes contained as they met his was disappointment, and Bilbo cringed away from their gaze as Gandalf pressed a mug of tea in his hands and settled him into a chair.

He expected the inquiries about how he was feeling. What he did not expect was the lecture that came afterword, proving that Gandalf the Grey had indeed once known Bilbo Baggins. Except he hadn’t, Bilbo thought, listening to him describe a young hobbit who looked for elves and trolls in the woods, a hobbit clamoring for a real adventure. He’d known Bilbo _Took_ -Baggins, who was really a different creature altogether. That Bilbo would have loved the idea of trying to sneak past a real dragon – he’d have signed that contract immediately. However, that was not the Bilbo that Gandalf was speaking to, and he never would be again. He’d gotten rid of that Took a long time ago, and there was no bringing him back. Not for Gandalf, and not for Thorin Oakenshield, even if he did have an _iron will and longing heart_ , and really, what had he been thinking when he’d dreamt that last bit up? Even thinking it made him squirm in embarrassment.

After firmly telling Gandalf that he would not be joining the Company in the morning, he took himself to bed, not really in the mood to try and be sociable. He passed Thorin and Balin and couldn’t look at them, but he did hear the start of their conversation – Balin saying with regret that it looked like they were still looking for a burglar, and Thorin agreeing that it was probably for the best. Bilbo flinched. He knew that he would be useless on their quest, but to know that the others agreed stung a little. Still, he told himself as he entered the comfortable isolation of his room, it was best that they were all on the same page. There would be no adventuring for this Baggins, thank you very much. With that comforting thought, he settled down with a good book, prepared to read until sleep took him.

Only he found he was too restless to read. Something was obviously wrong, as he was hardly ever this agitated. He paced about his room, his thoughts whirling, refusing to settle on any of the topics he tried to steer them towards. He had a pretty good idea of where his thoughts _wanted_ to go, and was determined to deny them. He would not think about weary eyes in a strong, proud face, nor would he ruminate on the voice that time and sorrow had shaped into a low, pleasant rasp. He most certainly wouldn’t think about how drawn he was to that voice and that figure despite himself. He sighed, sitting down again. “You”, he told himself firmly, “are an idiot. This is nothing. Yes, it’s odd that he should so resemble that silly little list of yours, but that is coincidence, nothing more, and the fact that you are letting it influence you so much is ridiculous. It’s childish. It’s-“

Bilbo stopped talking. There was music coming from outside his door. Entranced, he listened as the dwarves sang of their old home, deliberately failing to notice how easily he picked out Oakenshield’s voice amongst the others. The song was beautiful but haunting, accompanied by no instrument, and though Bilbo did not yet know it, as he listened something deep inside himself that he had locked away long ago was set free once more, never to be put back in its cage.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, you guys, thank you so much for the kudos and comments! They really make my day when I see them!
> 
> Also, I know updates are rather slow, but do bear with me. I have never left a fic unfinished, and I definitely don't intend to start. :D

Axe to his head, Bilbo would never be able to recall exactly what possessed him to race after the dwarves the next morning, contract waving merrily behind him, yelling back of all things that he was going to go on an adventure. It was far too much a Tookish thing to do, and he hadn’t chosen to do the Tookish thing in so long that he genuinely didn’t understand the impulse that led him to be seated uneasily on a pony, delicately holding the reins and wishing mightily for a handkerchief. All he really knew was that he’d woken to an empty house, had started to celebrate and then found the unsigned contract on his table, just waiting for his pen.  

After that, things were a bit of a blur, which was understandable considering he was busy rushing around his home and packing, and then sprinting off after his uninvited houseguests, alight with the excitement of going on a real adventure – and seeing a certain member of the Company he followed, though he was determinedly ignoring that particular incentive. He did manage to remember to scribble a hasty note to Hamfast explaining that he would be gone for a while, knowing that his friend would be by at some point and would become worried if he left no word behind, but he didn’t manage to recall doing so until later that night when they made camp. The only thing he was perfectly clear on after looking at the contract on his table that morning was handing it off to Balin and sneaking small glances at Thorin Oakenshield as he looked to see if all was in order. Almost before he knew it, Bilbo had been set on a pony, which was an experience he’d rather not have had. He much preferred walking to riding, not trusting any feet but his own to navigate the ground properly.  As if to add insult to injury, he then realized that he’d forgotten his handkerchief, and in his discomfort about his motivations for joining the Company and not being able to walk like a proper hobbit Bilbo found himself demanding that they return for it. He cringed inside as everyone stared at him incredulously, wanting very much to duck his head but forcing himself not to.  Then Bofur broke the tension by tossing him a piece off of his shirt, and the Company laughed and moved on. Bilbo felt his cheeks heat as he stared down at the makeshift handkerchief. Gandalf gave him a light pat on the back as he passed, and Bilbo squared his shoulders, determined to at least _try_ and act like he belonged on this journey.

Except, well, he really didn’t. He wasn’t meant for ponies and long, hard treks through the wilderness. He was meant for his tidy little hobbit hole, filled with comfort and the sound and smell of a fire in the hearth. He was meant for food and leisure and books. This only became more apparent as the quest continued.  He dismounted from his pony sore and tired, starving and dissatisfied with the hard bread and meager stew that was all that was on offer for eating. He tried not to let it show – he was painfully aware of how much he lacked and also that he’d chosen this lot – but it was hard to hide the flinching as his sore thighs adjusted to the constant riding, and harder still to disguise the grumblings of his stomach at the lack of his normal six or seven meals a day routine. The best he could do was stay out of everyone’s way, and miserable, he did so.

He sometimes thought that if not for Thorin Oakenshield’s presence, it wouldn’t be all that bad, for most of the company were cheerful and friendly, often willing to help and not seeming to hold Bilbo’s shortcomings against him. Thorin, however, did, and the weight of his disdain was a constant pressure on the little hobbit’s shoulders. It truly didn’t help that the imposing dwarf had lost so much and still come out fighting. After hearing how he had lost his father to Azog and then claimed the orc’s life for his own, Bilbo had ached for him. _Knows the pain of true loss_ had been one of his more bitter requirements, because he’d felt that his perfect person couldn’t possibly understand him if they hadn’t gone through something similar. Now he wished with all of his might that he’d never put that in there, as he felt that it might have spared Thorin his fate. Logically he was aware that what had happened to Thorin had happened well before he’d thought of his little list, but logic held no sway over emotion, he’d found.  He felt ridiculously guilty, and that made it even harder to meet the king’s eyes – not that he looked at Bilbo if he could help it.

It really was unfair, he decided as he took two steaming bowls of stew to Fili and Kili, who were guarding the ponies, that Thorin met every one of his criteria so beautifully. It was unfair, because Bilbo had left the biggest one out, though he’d rather thought that it had been implied: that his perfect mate should love him, or at least like him a bit.  Bilbo found he had no trouble liking the imposing king: he was kind, and generous to those he cared about, strong and intense and full of determination. Bilbo liked him immensely; even better, he respected him, and wanted nothing more than to prove that he was worthy of a returned interest.

This silly wish on Bilbo’s part might have led to nothing, but for Fili and Kili’s inattention to the ponies and their bad luck to stumble into a few trolls in the area. Bilbo _knew_ that they should tell Thorin, it was the sensible thing to do. However, he allowed the thought of the respect that he might gain if he managed to steal the ponies back with his own skills rather than the aid of the others to persuade him that he could do it. He was light on his feet, after all, and very little, and trolls were such big creatures that they would probably take no more notice of him than they would a speck on the ground. Or so he told himself. Later, under the threat of having all of his limbs pulled off by angry trolls, he revised his opinion. He was very glad that Thorin didn’t allow him to be ripped apart, even though he was pretty sure he’d considered it for a second or two. He felt that he’d much rather be tied up and waiting to be eaten than a mess of parts under the trolls’ feet, or worse, already in their bellies.

As he _hadn’t_ become an early appetizer, he was still quite able to use his wits, and managed to distract the trolls long enough for Gandalf to appear and save the day, as Bilbo was beginning to suspect was his wont. He was rather proud of himself for that feat until he accidentally overheard Thorin blaming him for being caught by the trolls at all, and he deflated yet again. He was a little offended, though. It had been Kili and Fili who had lost the ponies, after all, and he _had_ managed to get them free in the end. He felt just enough ire at Thorin’s dismissal of his efforts that he resolved to make a _new_ list, and when he did one Thorin Oakenshield would not be able to fill it, that was for sure and certain.

He never quite got around to it, as it turned out. Oh, he told himself that he was too tired, too busy, too afraid for his life (and depending on the day, all of these things could very well be true), but the real truth was that he no longer wanted a specific set of criteria in a partner. He liked and respected Thorin because he knew him now, not because he matched a list in his head. Bilbo had never had so much as an interest in anyone before, and he rather liked the feeling, even with the unpleasantness of knowing that his feelings weren’t returned. He suspected that sooner or later the newness would wear off and he would come to hate his unrequited feelings, and perhaps then he would try to see if whatever magic that had brought Thorin to his doorstep could be invoked a second time, but for now he was content to bask in the new experience.

This was all going on below the surface of his mind, however – deep in the places that he usually wasn’t aware of. If pressed, Bilbo would swear that he wanted to change his list, he just never seemed to have the time or the energy. Then they were in Rivendell, and it seemed far less important than looking around him in awe, soaking up everything like a sponge before an antsy Thorin made them leave. He was a little disappointed in him, to be honest. Whatever quarrel he had with elves, it was obvious that Lord Elrond held nothing but respect for the exiled king, and it bothered Bilbo a bit that Thorin had to be prodded into being polite. When the map was read and Lord Elrond’s too keen questions made Thorin bristle, Bilbo let out an inward sigh. He’d enjoyed Rivendell, would have liked to stay much, much longer, but he knew well enough that Elrond’s probing would result in their swift departure.

Sure enough, Thorin had them up and out before the dawn, and while the others were willing enough to leave – meat had eventually been provided, but they all felt rather antsy in the company of elves, a prejudice that they no doubt learned from their king – Bilbo often found himself turning to get a glimpse of the splendor that they were leaving. Thorin caught it, of course, and was plainly irritated by it, no doubt seeing his love for the place as further proof of his weakness. Bilbo scowled slightly as he hitched his pack farther up on his back. And so what if he did love Rivendell? It was beautiful, and homely, and everything splendid. Just because the Almighty King had an issue with elves didn’t mean that _Bilbo_ had to have one, did it? _He’d_ found their hosts nothing but pleasant, and it wasn’t his fault that Thorin couldn’t get past his grudges-

He was so intent on his thoughts that he didn’t realize that they’d stopped, and so bumped into Bofur who had been walking ahead. He grinned and clapped Bilbo on the back; a friendly gesture that nearly sent him sprawling.

“Cheer up, Burglar. You’ll surely get to see your new friends on the journey back. Keep moping like this and we’ll start to think you don’t want to be here.”  He winked.

Bilbo smiled back, sensing the tease, and asked, “Why have we stopped, then?”

Bofur sent a glance to the head of the line, where Thorin and Balin had pulled away from the others and had their heads together in discussion. “Methinks there’s been a change of plan. We were supposed to meet the wizard after half a day’s journey, but I’d bet my hat that Thorin doesn’t want to wait. Not that I have a problem with continuing, “ he added hastily, as he caught Dwalin’s glower.

“We mind,” Kili said. “Look at that mountain. Doesn’t it look angry? I think it looks angry.”

Bilbo laughed. Ahead, Thorin stopped speaking to raise his head and pin him with a sharp look, and he stopped. Fili caught the look and raised his voice to be heard farther up the line. “Thorin! Let’s rest here for now, and eat, and you can glare at our dear little burglar all you like.”

Kili chortled. Thorin transferred his glower to Fili, who grinned back cheekily. “We move on,” he said firmly, and turned his back on them, beginning the long, slow trek up the mountain as it began to rain.

“See? Angry,” Kili muttered.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been forever. I have no excuse, only apologies. I do promise not to abandon this.
> 
> So sorry for the long wait, and thank you so much to everyone who took the time to comment and kudos. I really appreciate it.
> 
> Quick warning: I have an awful habit of playing fast and loose with both versions of canon, and this is no different. Not all dialogue or events will be exactly as they are in the book or the movie. If this offends, please head back.

Even before the stone giants made their presence known, Bilbo felt that climbing the mountain was a bad choice. As they moved steadily upwards, the rain increased, as did the wind, and soon he felt like it was all he could do to remain standing, let alone keep pushing forward. He had always enjoyed the rain; as a younger hobbit he had spent many hours running about in it, heedless of any real danger. Somehow the rain in the Shire seemed less brutal, less destructive than this rain, the thunder more welcoming. His feet, which had always been steady on the ground, couldn’t seem to find the purchase he needed to move swiftly. Despite himself he began to agree with Kili: this mountain was angry, and it wanted them off.

Soon enough, they all found out how right Kili actually was, and the ensuing battle between the two giants would have left Bilbo shaking like a leaf even if he hadn’t nearly been thrown off of a cliff. He knew that he would relive that horrible minute of dangling by his fingertips in dreams for years to come. Worse, Thorin had nearly fallen off himself saving him, and the words he had flung at Bilbo had landed hard, the mere memory enough to make him flinch miserably where he lay pretending to sleep. Oh, he was a foolish hobbit, that much was certain. Such a foolish, silly little hobbit, to think that he could be anything more than a hindrance on this quest, that me might even be able to _help_. Such a silly, foolish, pathetic little hobbit to think that Thorin Oakenshield might ever look upon him with anything more than disdain. He thought again of Thorin’s words, of his furious face, and blinked back sudden tears.

_It’s no use_ , he told himself, huddling as far into his clothes as he could. _You were not made for this. You are a hobbit, a tiny, insignificant little hobbit, and you cannot be brave. You are not a Took, no matter what Gandalf says. You are a Baggins, and were made for simple things, your books and fire and garden, not for adventure and dragons and quests. It would be better for everyone if you just returned to where you belong, before you cause any more trouble._

He had been working up to this final decision since the beginning of the journey, he knew. He never should have stepped outside of his front door – he wasn’t built for it. His mother had been the adventurer; he was far more like his father, steady and dependable. He had known this, and still he had tried to be something he most definitely was not, swayed by a song and a pair of sad blue eyes and the persuasive whisper of _maybe_.

For just a moment, Bilbo closed his eyes and curled harder into himself. He bit the inside of his lip as hard as he could and clenched his hands into tight fists, then he forced himself to relax, to open his eyes and cautiously peer into the darkness around him. Everyone was deeply asleep; he could hear Bombur’s and Gloin’s snores from across the cave, Kili’s muttering and Dori’s snuffling. There would be no better time.

Slowly, cautiously, Bilbo rose. He took up his pack and his bedroll and picked his cautious way through the mass of sleeping dwarves, ignoring the small voice inside of him that screamed _coward_ and instead listening to the far more sensible one telling him that this was the only way. He nearly made it out, when he heard a soft call of his name.

Bofur. Of all the dwarves, he had been the nicest, the one most eager to extend the hand of friendship. Bilbo wished that it were anyone else that had caught him out. He didn’t want to disappoint Bofur, too.

“I have to go. I’m useless to anyone here, and I miss my home. I never should have come.”

Bofur shook his head. “It’s hard for everyone, Bilbo, but it will get better. It will.”

“No, it won’t. I am not meant for this. I miss my home, and my books, and I can’t do this.”

Bofur sighed. “I understand-“

The mix of dismay that it should be Bofur who saw him leave and the despair that he had failed those who trusted him, as well as some test of life that he had hardly been aware he was taking, caused Bilbo to finally snap. “No, you don’t understand!” he cut Bofur off, “How could you? You’re dwarves, you don’t have a home-“ Bilbo stopped there, instantly contrite, knowing that he had said something unforgiveable. Bofur gently waved him off. The face he turned to Bilbo was one of the saddest he’d ever seen, but still his voice was kind and honest as he wished him every happiness.

Bilbo shifted from foot to foot. He should go. He would never have a better opportunity. And yet…despite himself, he didn’t want to go. Bofur’s face had wiped out all of his self-pity in one fell swoop, and now he was nothing more than ashamed. He missed his home and he missed his books, but at least he had those things to return to. How could he sit and whine about how unfair his life was to those who had had it so much worse for so long? Despite himself his eyes flicked to Thorin, and found his eyes open and watching him, full of the same censure and disappointment they had held almost since the first moment he’d first laid eyes on Bilbo.

Bilbo held those eyes for just a moment, then gave up. He would stay. He had to. But he would also give  up; would no longer allow Thorin’s meeting every point of some long-forgotten list of requirements make him think that he could find someone who might just suit him right down to the ground, someone who might be able to defy the Took curse. That foolishness would end here.

He turned back to Bofur, ready to tell him this, but found the dwarf’s eyes glued to his waist. “Bilbo..?” he said softly, and Bilbo realized this his little sword had taken on a blue glow.

“Oh, no,” he whispered, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Thorin jump up, no sleep in his eyes as he yelled for the others to wake. It was far too late for anyone to do anything, however, as the very ground beneath their feet slid away and they all fell into a heap in the goblin tunnels below.

~****~

If he had the breath for it, he could have screamed with frustration, but he was too frightened. Once again, he had tried to help and only made things worse. Now he was separated from the rest of the group, had no way out, and to top it all off, had to face down a creepy little creature who would kill him as soon as look at him. His tiny sword – what had Balin called it? A letter opener? – seemed more ineffectual than ever when faced with the weird creature’s menace, but Bilbo held it dutifully in front of him just the same. It was something to keep the thing at bay for the moment, at any rate. Something to put between them.

“Is it tasty? Is it juicy?” the thing asked, and Bilbo cringed in disgust. He had a feeling that it would not stay back for much longer, and he trembled. He was no warrior; if that thing charged him it would win, and Bilbo would end up a meal. He opened his mouth and words came out, though he hardly heard what it was he said. A white haze of panic had settled over his mind, and he could not think around it.

Suddenly the mad creature was capering and dancing in front of him, giving out giant smiles that frightened Bilbo more than its menace had. Part of him wanted to turn and run, try his chances, and another part wanted to put the sword down and let the creature come at him. Let it be over. The second part was weaker than the first, and knowing it was there suddenly made Bilbo furious –at himself, at the creature, at this whole stupid journey.

_No. You have faced trolls and giants and Thorin’s wrath. This thing is nothing compared to that. You will not cower, Bilbo Baggins. You will fight._

Bilbo forced his back straight, his hand steadied. He focused all of his attention on actually listening to the words coming from the thing’s mouth, and was baffled to learn that it was speaking of riddles. His brow furrowed. Riddles, then. He could work with riddles. 

“if I win, I go free,” he said, and the thing cocked it’s head, smile fading, eyes going cold and calculating. Bilbo met its gaze calmly, ignoring the churning of his stomach.

The thing smiled slowly. “If it wins, it goes free,” it agreed, then the smile widened. “if it loses, we eats it whole.”

Bilbo thought about it. “Fair enough.” He did not intend to lose, and he knew that the creature in front of him didn’t either. He also knew that it wouldn’t play fair; even as it returned to its other, more manic personality, the cold gleam stayed in its eyes. There would be no easy escape, even if he won. Still, best to put that out of his mind for the moment. He stuck his sword back on his hip and got down to the business of surviving.

Riddles were something of a hobby of Bilbo’s – though he had not been the type of hobbit to take part in boisterous war games for longer than he could recall, he had always loved to read, and to puzzle, and riddles gave his mind something to pick at when he was feeling lonely and miserable. Both of his aunts had loved them, and the three of them had spent many a morning trying to stump each other over breakfast, laughing when they managed it and kicking their legs when they could not. It was those bright mornings that Bilbo called on as he and the creature played, and he was surprised to realize that in spite of the danger he was in, he was enjoying himself. The creature was cleverer than his appearance would lend anyone to believe, and  the riddle trading lasted for several minutes before the other personality came in to end it.

“Final one,” it hissed, glaring at him. Its fingers twitched, flexing as though they were already wrapped around his throat. It took a step forward, and Bilbo took one back, swallowing hard. “Ask us a question.”

Bilbo thought. His mind was going blank again. Every riddle in his repertoire suddenly seemed far too easy, and he knew that if this creature guessed the right answer it would consider the game won and jump him. Bilbo had no intention of letting it eat him in any case, but he wanted to win fair and square.  It was a matter of pride, which was wholly ridiculous considering the situation but no less true for all that. He cast about in his mind for the riddle, the one riddle that would stump the dirty creature and maybe buy his life. He could think of nothing. The creature smirked and sketched a little bow. “Time’s up,” it whispered, and prepared to pounce.

“Wait! I’ve got one! What…what have I got – got – in my - in my…pocket! Yes! What have I got in my pocket?” The creature stopped, confused, and Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief.

“Cheating,” it muttered furiously. “It’s cheating, precious. That isn’t a riddle, makes no sense.  It must forfeit, it must.”

“It will _not_ ,” Bilbo answered, affronted. “You told me to ask a question, I’ve asked it. Now you must answer. What have I got in my pocket?”

The thing glared at him. “Three guesses,” it demanded, and Bilbo nodded graciously. There was no way it could figure out the answer, not with three hundred guesses, for who would expect a shiny golden ring to be in a traveling hobbit’s pocket? Bilbo himself never would have expected it, but he was glad he’d absently picked it up when he’d seen it glinting on the ground. Perhaps his luck was finally changing.

“Handses!” it cried, and Bilbo, who had just removed his hands from his pockets, shook his head.

“Try again.”

It bent low to the ground, muttering to itself about bats and toads and fish and bones in a rapid tone. Bilbo stared at the scrap of cloth it was wearing. If these were things it regularly kept in its pockets, as they must be, he hadn’t the faintest where said pockets were located.

“Knife!”

“I’m afraid not. Last guess.” He heard the cheeriness in his own voice and tried to tone it tone. It would do no good to look as though he were gloating. There was still one guess left to go, and it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that he might figure it out.

The creature’s face went through a series of contortions, and then he cried “string,” and almost on top of it, in the lower, more murderous tone, “or nothing.”

“That was two guesses, and both wrong,” Bilbo replied, and now it wasn’t cheer but relief coursing through him. Perhaps it would honor its promise after all. Perhaps it would let him go free. He tapped the little lump in his jacket pocket, feeling a wash of fondness for it. What good luck that he’d picked it up, he thought again, what wonderful luck.

The creature shrieked and flung itself on the ground, writhing and jerking as though it were dying, and Bilbo hastily stepped farther out of its reach. The noise that made stopped the tantrum; it turned to look at him and Bilbo read his own death on its face. “You – you have to let me go. You agreed.” He hated the way his voice came out – thready and desperate – but he was having a hard time getting his breath suddenly and that was the best he could do.

“Did we promise?” it hissed back, crawling forward. Bilbo skittered away. “Did we, Precious? And what has it got in its pockets, then? We can find out, yes.” it reached down into the filthy rag it wore as clothes, groped for a moment, then froze, eyes wide. “Where..?” Those large eyes fixed on Bilbo again and it snarled. “You. You _stole_ it. Thief! Give it back, it’s mine!” And it lunged.

Bilbo took one giant step back and lost his footing. He fell, back slamming into the ground, head hitting hard enough for his vision to go out momentarily, and then the creature landed on top of him, snarling. His hands clawed at Bilbo’s chest and throat, and the stench of its breath filled his nostrils and made him gag. Bilbo struggled wildly, but the thing was strong and wiry and would not be dislodged. Cold, dirty hands locked about his throat and began to squeeze, it was drooling and gibbering madly, laughing through the disjointed words that poured from its mouth. Its eyes bulged. Bilbo stopped trying to pry it off and flung both arms to the ground beside him, scrabbling desperately for something, anything to use as a weapon. His grasping fingers hit something hard, bounced off, grasped it. It was a good sized rock, and Bilbo used the last of his strength to bring it up and into the side of the creatures head, sending it sprawling. It rolled twice and landed a few feet away, dazed and blinking, a bit of blood trickling from its ear.

Bilbo sat up, gasping, and rubbed at his neck. His throat was on fire, even swallowing hurt. He wanted nothing more than to sit and shake and try to compose himself, but he hadn’t hit the creature that hard, and it was already struggling to its feet. Bilbo ran.

He had no clue where he was going, or if it was even in the right direction to get out;  no idea if he was running towards something even nastier than what he was trying to leave behind. All he could see was the path in front of him, all he could hear was his own terrified panting. He took a sharp turn and noticed a small space to try and hide in – if he could squeeze through  before the creature turned the corner as well and saw him, he might make it out. He flung himself at the space and tried to force himself through it – he was stuck briefly but with a mighty heave and the tearing of every button on his waistcoat he forced himself through. He overbalanced and fell on his back again, buttons flying. The force of his fall knocked the ring out of his pocket and into the air, and he reached for it without really thinking about it. Somehow it slid on his finger, and then the creature was once again upon him.

Bilbo held his breath and prayed that it would not see his little hiding place. He’d been so desperate to get away from the mad thing that he hadn’t realized that he had merely managed to trap himself. If it looked in and saw him, he would have no escape. The only way out was the way he had gone in. He knew with a sudden clarity that he was going to die, and even in his terror had time to be amused that he’d managed to get his wish: it would not be a broken heart that killed him, after all.

He unsheathed his sword as the creature finally looked into his little hideaway, prepared to fight desperately for his life…but the creature’s eyes passed over him without seeing. It turned around in a circle, scratched its head. “Where did it go, Precious?” it muttered. “We was right behind it. How did it escape us?” It pounded one dirty fist on the rock next to it, cursing. “Tricksy little thief! But we _will_ find it, Precious, we will, and we will make it pay for what it stole from us. We will hurt it and cut it and make it pay, make it squirm and scream. Make it _bleed_.”

Bilbo shuddered at the rage in that voice, and then the creature was scurrying away, heading farther down the tunnel. Bilbo gave it a couple of moments, then followed. Perhaps there was a way out. He followed that path for a bit, then realized that it was getting brighter. He picked up his pace, nearly running, and almost ran over the creature before he realized it was there. He stopped. The creature was standing just outside of an opening in the rocks, one that led to daylight. It was peering out, searching no doubt for Bilbo, still somehow completely unaware that the hobbit he sought was right behind him. The shoulders in front of him tensed, and suddenly it spun around, its wide eyes searching the tunnel behind it. Still it did not see Bilbo, and he knew it was his one chance. He toyed briefly with the idea of killing the creature to make sure that it could never come after him, but he knew that he could not do it. Even though it had terrified him, even though he knew that it would not hesitate to kill him should it realize he was there, Bilbo could not look into its pathetic, wasted face and feel anything but pity and revulsion. Whatever had happened to the thing, whatever had made it the way it was, its existence was surely punishment enough. Instead of using his sword to cut its throat, Bilbo pressed himself against the wall and skirted around the creature, emerging out into sunlight with the sound of its howls of rage and sorrow ringing in his ears.

Bilbo did not stop once he was out of the cave. He ran full tilt down the embankment, his breath screaming out of his lungs, sure that any moment he would feel that horrible creature’s fingers tugging on his coat pulling him back into the tunnels to finish him off. That did not happen, however, and soon he was well clear of the cave, surrounded by trees and feeling safer, though not by very much. He slowed, stopped, and was seized with a horrible cramp. He bent over, hands on his knees, and retched, eyes closed. 

Very slowly, the cramping stopped. His heart slowed to its normal rhythm, and the roaring in his ears died down. With that gone, he could make out several voices. It was his companions, not far off, speaking in tense voices, and Bilbo moved towards the sound, so grateful to have found them again he nearly wept. Then he registered what they were saying.

“-thought of nothing but his cozy hobbit hole since he came.” Thorin’s voice was hard, angry, and Bilbo fell back against a tree, shoulders slumping as he heard the mutters of agreement from the rest. Of course. None of them could know that he hadn’t been planning on leaving them behind – what Thorin had witnessed before their descent into the goblin’s lair could only make him think that Bilbo had taken off at the first opportunity. Bilbo peered around his tree. Not one face showed anything other than full agreement; Gandalf only looked troubled. Bilbo bit his lip. If he wanted to, he could leave. They thought him a coward already, believed that he would run out on them in their time of need, why not prove them right?

Bilbo shook his head, gritting his teeth against that thought, which seemed far too tempting. No. He’d decided to stick with them, he’d survived the horror that dwelt deep inside the caves to return to them, and he would not back out now. He would see this through to the end, whatever it may be. He stepped out from behind the trees.

~****~

If there was one thing he had learned on this journey, it was that Thorin could not be trusted to make sound decisions for himself, Bilbo thought furiously as threw himself at the orc about to chop of the head of a very foolish King. Whenever he did make a decision, horrible things happened. Things that inevitably put himself and others in danger. Not that Bilbo was exactly up to making decisions either, considering how he was only too willing to throw himself in front of a sword meant for another’s neck. It was almost funny. Bilbo had been so terrified of the Took Curse his entire life that he’d created walls surrounded by thorns to protect himself from the possibility of it ever happening to him, and in the end it would be the unwitting result of that very protection that wound up doing him in. Thorin Oakenshield was a menace, and if they all got out of this alive, he was going to tell him so at the first opportunity, tentative peace that they’d achieved only minutes before be damned.  This sort of thing could not go on – it was no good for Bilbo’s poor nerves. He tackled the orc and with a combination of pure luck and gravity, managed to kill it, then flung himself to his feet and stood protectively in front of Thorin, doing his best to shield him from any other attacks. The Pale Orc’s eyes fixed upon him, and Bilbo gulped. He was going to die.

Well, he was not going to die cowering. Squaring his shoulders, he prepared to boldly face his next challenge, but before Azog could call his riders down on him there was a shout from behind and the rest of the company was there, out of the trees and ready to battle for their King and freedom. Bilbo let out a sigh of relief and charged into the fray with them, slashing his sword as best he could and trying to always place himself between each threat and Thorin, who had not yet opened his eyes. He did not know if they could win this battle – there were many orcs and many wargs and the company was already exhausted from their fight and flight in the goblin tunnels – but he knew that none of them would allow themselves to be taken alive, even if Azog wished it. This would be a fight to the death, one way or another. Had he thought about it, Bilbo would have expected to be more afraid than he was. He would be afraid later. For the moment, he only had room for survival.

The arrival of the eagles was a blessing, and a younger Bilbo would have delighted in the flight away from the orcs, entranced by traveling through the sky to the sound of beating wings. The elder Bilbo might have enjoyed it as well, were it not for his worry over Thorin, a worry that had sunk cold claws into his chest and refused to let go. He kept anxious eyes on the prone form lying in one of the eagles claws for the entirety of the flight, and when they set down wanted to throw himself at the King to make sure he was alive. He held back, however, knowing it was not his place. Thorin would not thank him for his concern, he knew. He would probably despise him for it, as he despised him for so much else. Still, when Gandalf announced that Thorin would live, Bilbo went weak with relief, and very nearly spilled to the ground.

As if Gandalf’s pronouncement was a signal, Thorin’s eyes fluttered, then opened. He peered around unseeingly for a moment, then he murmured something too low for Bilbo to hear. Gandalf’s posture, however, relaxed, and Bilbo saw his face crease in a fond smile.

“It’s all right. Bilbo is here. He’s quite safe.” He said, stepping aside so that Thorin might see for himself, and Bilbo gave a surprised jerk. Had that too-low murmur been Thorin enquiring about him? His stomach fluttered oddly, and he took a small step forward into Thorin’s line of sight, starting to smile.

When Thorin’s gaze fell on him he scrambled up, advancing towards Bilbo with fury in his eyes. Gandalf did his best to restrain him, but he threw off the constraining hand and kept coming. Bilbo shuffled back in alarm.

“You. Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us?”

Bilbo’s heart sank. Could he do no right in Thorin’s eyes? How had he gone wrong by saving his life? He looked at the ground in defeat as Thorin stopped a mere pace from him, telling himself again that he must stop allowing Thorin’s disappointment to hurt him. They were nothing to each other, after all. Why should it sting so much that Thorin still hated him?

“I have never been so wrong in all my life,” Thorin continued, and Bilbo’s head snapped up with astonishment. Surely he had heard wrong. He caught a brief glimpse of Thorin’s face – could that usually stern face really be smiling at him with so much affection? It had to be his imagination – before he was enveloped in strong arms and pulled into a fierce hug. Bilbo tensed in surprise, then hesitantly brought his own arms up to return the embrace, his eyes sliding closed with how very _good_ it felt to be held in such a way, by such a-.

_Oh_ , he thought, and then: _oh, no._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update! I know, I'm scared too.

More than anything, the Company needed rest – and none more so than its leader. However, Gandalf insisted that they press on. He said that he knew of a place that they could lodge not horribly far from where the eagles had taken them, and if they pushed it they might make good time. He cast worried eyes over Thorin as he said this, which caused the stubborn dwarf to straighten and declare that he was more than capable of continuing.

Bilbo allowed himself a silent sigh at this news. He was tired and sore, and shaking with delayed fear over what he’d just experienced. He wanted nothing more than to rest, and he knew that Thorin _needed_ to. He also knew that there was no way to convince any of them of that fact. If Thorin said that he was fine, they would all pretend to believe it, no matter that he was limping and listing to one side, or that he was surely bleeding through the cloth they had used to bind his wounds.

“Honestly,” Bilbo muttered to himself as they walked, glaring at Thorin’s back, “he’s going to push himself too far, and it will only delay his recovery. See how he likes it when he has to stay abed for days and days because he couldn’t just admit that he needed to rest. Ungrateful, that’s what he is. Save his life, and this is how he repays it. Stupid, stubborn fool of a dwarf!” He watched Thorin anxiously, biting his lip.

He was so focused on Thorin that he didn’t realize that Kili and Fili had sidled up beside him until Kili spoke. “He’ll be all right, Bilbo,” he said softly, and Fili nodded. “You needn’t fret so.”

“Fret? Who’s fretting? I’m simply walking, because resting after a battle is apparently out of the question.”

Fili laughed. “Walking and looking so hard at Thorin it’s a wonder you haven’t tripped over yourself.”

“Hobbits are very sure on their feet,” Bilbo replied absently. Had Thorin just listed to the side? He sped up a bit, ignoring the snickers of the other two. He knew he was being foolish – the others cared about Thorin as well, and Dwalin walking next to Thorin was more than likely keeping an eye on his progress. Bilbo didn’t need to worry as much as he was, but he simply couldn’t help it. He shuffled closer.

“Bilbo, come here,” Thorin called, and Bilbo felt a small thrill go through him. He ignored it and hastened to Thorin’s side, where he was peered at with worried eyes.

“How are you faring? You must be tired, but the wizard has assured me that we do not have much longer before we reach shelter.”

“Me?” Bilbo cried, far too loudly. Dwalin glared at him and he blushed, lowering his voice. “How can you be worried about me right now? In case it has escaped your notice, Thorin, you very nearly had your head lopped off.”

Thorin frowned at him. “I am fine. Do not speak of it again,” he said, his tone brooking no argument.

Bilbo could have screamed with frustration. “Oh, fine, you’re fine, walking around bleeding from the head. Sure. Do forgive me my concern; it won’t happen again.” He made to fall back, but a touch to his shoulder stopped him.

“I thank you for your concern, Bilbo, but please, do not trouble yourself over it. I have survived worse than this; I am well enough.”

Bilbo shook his head. “You shouldn’t be hurt at all. Please tell me that when we get wherever we’re going that you’ll take proper care of yourself.” His face burned and he avoided looking at Thorin’s face – had he done so, he might have noted the fond smile; the tender look in blue eyes as they gazed down at him. As it was, he could barely raise his eyes past Thorin’s knees, and thus missed his expression entirely.

By the time he found the courage to glance up, it had been wiped away, and Thorin’s face was as grave as usual when he replied, “Fear not, burglar. I will see to my wounds when we are safe.”

Bilbo supposed that he would have to be satisfied with that. He nodded, sighed, and trudged on, pretending that he didn’t notice the sidelong glances that the dwarf beside him kept throwing in his direction.  He knew he’d overstepped his bounds by saying those things, and he was embarrassed, but he didn’t regret it. Someone had to tell Thorin when he was being an idiot, and if the rest of the company would not, then it had to fall to Bilbo. He would put up with all the embarrassment in the world if it meant that Thorin was more careful with his life.

Eventually Gandalf had them halt. “The man that I wish to visit is a very peculiar sort. He is large and intimidating, but can be fairly generous if approached the right way. The trick is to keep him entertained.” He looked down at all of them. “Bilbo. You shall come with me now, and the rest of you shall approach in groups of one and two, no more. Thorin, you will come last. Come, Bilbo.”

Bilbo followed Gandalf to an enormous house.  _Oh dear,_ he thought as they passed beneath a massive archway, _he must be very big, and I will seem so little by comparison. Are we to parlay with a giant_?

The man who came out to meet them was not a giant, but he was close. Bilbo looked up, up, up, into a large, hairy face and eyes that danced with mirth. There was wildness there, too, and Bilbo instinctively moved back into the relative protection of Gandalf’s robes.

The face wreathed into a grin. “Gandalf!” a rumbling voice cried loudly, “Well met we are this night. And what have you brought for me, hm?” he bent down and peered at Bilbo, who cringed back even farther. “A timid little bunny this one is, shaking and shivering in front of me!” he laughed.

Bilbo rose up indignantly. “I am not a bunny, I am a hobbit.”

The almost giant laughed again. “I like this one, Master Wizard. Such a large spirit for such a little creature. And what is your name, not-a-bunny?”

“Bilbo Baggins…at your service,” Bilbo eked out. He was no longer cowering against Gandalf, but the man was still very large, and Bilbo very small. It was unnerving, to say the least.

“I am Beorn. And if I’m not mistaken, the wizard is here for a purpose. Come, sit and tell me what it is you wish, and why I should do it.”

They sat, and under Gandalf’s prodding Bilbo spoke of the beginning of the journey, of meeting the dwarves and being entreated to accompany them on their quest. As he spoke, the others began to trickle in and join them, and each new group took over the tale, until they had reached the end of it thus far and had only one dwarf left for Beorn to greet.

Thorin came into the room and made a low bow. Beorn watched him solemnly. “So this is Thorin Oakenshield,” he said. “I have heard of you before this, King Under the Mountain. Tales of your journey have spread even as you have been traveling…though perhaps not from the quarters you’d expect. You may stay here and recover; eat and drink and regain your strength.” His eyes strayed to Bilbo. “Little bunny is too thin.” He stood. “I have much to do. I will see you all when I come back, yes?” And he bounded away.

Gandalf stood as well. “Well, that went even better than I’d hoped. Time, I think, for supper.”

Kili was grinning at Bilbo, amusement written all over his face. “Little bunny?” he asked, utterly delighted, and Bilbo buried his face in his hands with a heartfelt groan.

~****~

When Bilbo roused himself from sleep the next morning, it was to find their host missing and breakfast already over. His stomach protested, but Bilbo found that he relished the chance to sleep more than the chance to fill his belly, and stretched luxuriously. It was good to feel safe, good to be sleeping indoors. Rivendell’s lovely halls seemed ages ago. Soon enough, however, his growling stomach forced him out of his lazy daze, and he dressed quickly, and ventured out to look for sustenance.

On the way to the kitchen, he ran into Thorin. “Finally awake, I see” he greeted with a smile, and Bilbo felt an answering smile form on his own face quite without his permission. He opened his mouth to say he knew not what – perhaps an indignant reply to Thorin’s poking at his sleeping habits, perhaps an inquiry for food, perhaps the squeak of a timid little mouse – but his stomach chose that moment to rumble again, loudly calling attention to the real reason Bilbo had left the comfort of his blankets.

Thorin’s smile widened, and Bilbo’s face grew hot. “Come along, Master Baggins,” the dwarf said, laughter in his voice, “let us find you a hearty meal lest you faint with hunger.”

Bilbo huffed in annoyance, but followed Thorin to the kitchens, where he was fixed a breakfast large enough to keep any hobbit happy. He thought that Thorin would leave once he had ensured Bilbo his meal, but to his surprise he sat across from him instead, accepting a large mug of tea and seeming perfectly content to sit and watch Bilbo eat.

After the first few hasty bites Bilbo collected himself. “Where is everyone?” For they had come across none of the others on the way to the kitchens.

“I believe that most of them are outside in the grass, though Ori might be found somewhere about the house.” Thorin’s mouth quirked. “They too are taking advantage of this brief respite.”

Bilbo looked down at his plate in confusion. Thorin’s manner was open, friendly in a way he’d never been with him before. He’d known that the King was grateful he’d saved his life, but he’d never imagined that it would lead to such swift, total acceptance. He didn’t know how to respond to it.

“Bilbo?” Thorin’s voice brought him out of his musing, and he looked up. Thorin had gone tense; his face was troubled, uncertain. “I could – if you wish to be alone I could go.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened. “No, please stay,” he blurted, then cursed himself. He wanted Thorin to stay, of course he did, but he shouldn’t. There was too much at stake now. It was too late to take his hasty words back, however, as Thorin gave him one of those soft smiles and settled back into his chair once more. Bilbo smiled back in spite of himself. Surely it couldn’t hurt to be friendly with him, he told himself. After all, there was no way that his silly crush would ever be returned. It hadn’t been a stipulation in his rules, after all. Surely he could have this little bit of what he wanted, without it blowing up in his face.

“I too am looking forward to exploring this place,” he confided. “It seemed interesting from what I saw yesterday. There are so many animals here! And it’s so green – it makes me think of my garden back home. I do hope that the Gaffer is still taking care of it, though I suppose it doesn’t matter one way or the other, right now.”

“You must miss it terribly.”

Bilbo heard the wistfulness in Thorin’s voice and knew he was thinking of his own lost home. It made him ache with sympathy. Impulsively, he reached over and grasped Thorin’s arm where it rested on the table. Thorin’s eyes widened slightly; he glanced from Bilbo’s hand to his face and back again, but said nothing. Bilbo resisted the urge to pull his hand back as if scalded – why did he never _think_? – and instead allowed himself a small squeeze.

“We’re close, Thorin. Soon, you will have your home back again. I feel it.” He let go and pulled his hand back to his side, resisted the urge to clench it into a fist to savor the sensation of Thorin’s arm underneath it.

Thorin studied him. “We’ve met so much hardship on this quest that it almost seems as if the heavens themselves are against it. It dampens my spirits. I dream of reaching the mountain, only to find it closed to me. We do not find the door, or the key does not work, or the dragon wins. And yet when you tell me that we will take it back I can’t help but believe you. Why do you suppose that is?”

“It’s because you know that I am right. Whatever your dreams tell you, you are destined to retake Erebor, Thorin. Never doubt it.” Bilbo met his stare earnestly, willing him to believe it. He knew that Thorin was mostly tired, and hurt, and would rally once he had recovered. Until then, he would believe enough for both of them.

The corner of Thorin’s mouth tilted up ever so slightly. “How can I doubt it, when you have such conviction?” he asked, voice fond.

Bilbo stood. “I really must wash up,” he exclaimed, “and then I think I will explore the grounds. Please excuse me.” And he fled. Once he felt that he was sufficiently far enough away, he stopped. He leaned against the wall and shook his head at himself.

“Now see here. You have got to stop this. You are not some swooning maid – you are Bilbo Baggins, and you will be calm. It doesn’t mean anything – Thorin was simply confiding in you because he can’t appear uncertain in front of his people. You are not his subject, so it doesn’t matter if you think less of him for his fears or not – though how anybody could is completely – focus, Bilbo. Do not let your imagination run away with you. Be grateful that he considers you a member of the company, and let it alone.”

Sound advice, but Bilbo knew he would not follow it. He hadn’t known, not until Thorin had embraced him, but once he had it had become clear. Bilbo Baggins had done the unthinkable – gone and allowed himself to tumble headfirst into infatuation with Thorin Oakenshield. With the only being in Middle Earth who fit his ideal. His only consolation was that there was no way that the object of his affections could ever feel the same. Thorin would be safe from the Took Curse, and though this knowledge calmed him, it also hurt him. Now that he knew how he felt about Thorin, he wanted nothing more than to be loved in return, even though he knew it could never be. It wasn’t the first time that he’d cursed the Took ancestor that had doomed the line forever, but it _was_ the first time that he’d cursed himself, as well.

Bilbo took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and went to wash up and change. He didn’t know how long they would be allowed to stay with Beorn, but he fully intended to make the most of it, ill-fated love or no.

They did not stay as long at Beorn’s as Bilbo could have wished, but they did stay long enough that they all put on a little weight from hearty meals and decent rest. Bilbo observed that Thorin’s wounds had healed to the point that they no longer gave him pain, and he was glad for it. It nearly made up for Beorn’s delight with Bilbo’s small stature and developing belly, as well as the resultant teasing of both Fili and Kili. The two followed him everywhere, refused to call him anything but “Little Bunny”, and had poked and prodded at his belly so much that Bilbo had had to threaten to tell their uncle get them to back off. It was bad enough that Beorn had to keep pointing out how week and useless he was; he didn’t need two of the Company doing the same.

Bilbo’s threats were more than likely just that, but they managed to make Fili and Kili subside for a time. In spite of his misgivings he spent a portion of each day with Thorin, whether they spoke or not, and Bilbo found himself helpless to be as distant as he would wish. He had never had to contend with feelings of this sort before – had never had to seriously resist an attraction to someone else – and he found that even though he knew it could never come to anything, he _liked_ the way he felt. It might not always be so – someday the ache of knowing he could never have Thorin’s attention in _quite_ the way he wanted might grow larger than the delight he felt at having his attention at all – but he couldn’t quite bring himself to put distance between them now.

It might have been easier to do so, had Thorin not be the one seeking Bilbo out. It seemed to please him to find Bilbo after dinner, and to sit and smoke, with one or two of the others joining them occasionally. They would sit together shoulder to shoulder on the grass and watch the sun as it retreated behind the mountains. It was on one of these evenings that Beorn came to find them. He sat heavily next to Thorin and pulled out his own pipe, lighting it and closing his eyes in pleasure before he spoke.

“You are being hunted by the goblins. I have killed one just this night who had been sent forward to scout for your location. It appears that they are working with the orcs – the one I saw was riding a warg.”

Bilbo felt Thorin tense. “We will be gone by morning. I am sorry to have brought these enemies so close to you; perhaps if we are gone they will trouble you no more.”

Beorn rumbled a laugh. “I can take care of orcs and goblins.” He studied Thorin a moment, noting the determination on his face. “You are welcome to stay, should you wish.”

Thorin inclined his head. “I thank you for your offer, but we must be gone. We have lingered here too long already.”

Bilbo sighed. He’d known this would happen sooner or later, but he’d so enjoyed the brief reprieve from toil and hardship. He would miss it.

His sigh caught Beorn’s attention, and he looked at Bilbo thoughtfully. “Little bunny could stay here, if he wishes. I have many animals to keep him company, and he is such a soft little thing, not made for war and stone and fire.”

Thorin bristled, and Bilbo just knew that he was going to say something rude and make Beorn angry. Without giving it much thought he reached out and placed a calming hand on his leg; Thorin subsided, and Bilbo smiled up at Beorn. “Thank you for the kind offer,” he replied, “but I must stay with my friends. I made them a promise, and I will go back on it.”

Beorn made a slight bow. “As you wish.” He then got down to the business of advising Thorin on the best way to evade the searching parties, and Bilbo excused himself to get his things together. He knew that now that Thorin had decided on a course of action, they would be leaving as soon as they could. Sure enough, they were ready to continue in an hour or so.

Their host had suggested that they take the Northern Pass through the Mirkwood, and Thorin had agreed. They had been provided with food and ponies to take them to the entrance to the wood, and as they all climbed on Beorn gave them one last bit of advice.

“Stay on the path. The northern pass is less treacherous than the south, but it is not without its dangers. You will be fine if you _stay on the path_. Do not stray from it for any reason, and you will see yourselves safely out of the wood and near your mountain.” He beamed at them all. “This has been interesting. Should you find yourselves nearby, you are welcome here.” Then, catching sight of Bilbo, he plucked him off of his horse to give him one last squeeze. “Farewell, little bunny. Remember to come say hello to Beorn on your way back home.” He set Bilbo back on his horse and conferred quietly with Gandalf for a moment. Bilbo steadfastly ignored the snickers of the others. Despite the nickname and the manhandling, Bilbo liked Beorn, and he made a note to stop by on his return from the mountain.

Gandalf left them at the entrance to the wood. “I am afraid that I have business elsewhere,” he said, and would say no more. “Heed Beorn’s advice and stay on the path. Mirkwood is not what it used to be – there is a darkness here. You will be fine if you do not stray from the path.” With that final warning, he turned and went off in the opposite direction. Bilbo watched him go, worried. He would feel much safer if Gandalf were to accompany them through the Mirkwood, but had learned that the wizard would go his own way.

“Bilbo,” Thorin called. “Do not linger. We must all stay together.”

Swallowing hard and taking one last look at the way Gandalf had gone, Bilbo turned and followed the others into the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to let me know what you think! Thank you so much to those who commented and kudosed - I appreciate it so much.


	9. Chapter 9

Bilbo did not like the Mirkwood. It was dank and oppressive, and no light shone through the trees. Both Beorn and Gandalf had spoken of the evils that lived there, and Bilbo could almost feel that evil as they walked along, pressing down on him and making it hard to think. He could see that it bothered the others as well – the feeling of the woods drained Fili and Kili of their normal exuberance, sapped Bofur of all of his cheerfulness, and increased Thorin’s harshness. Bilbo’s own feet dragged, and he seemed to get more tired the farther in they walked. His only hope was that they would make it through in good time.

The heavy weight that had settled on all of them made that near impossible, however. They walked more slowly, grumbled more often, and barely wanted to talk to each other. The merriment that sometimes took place during the evening meal was completely absent; no stories were told and o songs were sung. Instead, each companion ate his meal in silence, cleaned his plate and unrolled his pack, preferring the escape of sleep to dealing with the darkness awake.

They took turns with watch as usual, and Bilbo hated his. The darkness in the woods was thick, and could barely be penetrated by the glow of the fire. He spent most of his watches sitting beside it, fruitlessly peering into the dark, his little sword held in a tight and sweating grip, startling at every noise.  They traveled in this way for days, and still only seemed to go deeper into the forest. Bilbo sometimes thought that the woods was tricking them, looping the path back in on itself so that they might never find a way out. He tried to wipe the thoughts from his mind, but they crept back in, telling him that they would never get out, they would die here. That the best thing that he could do for himself would be to slip on his ring and run away. _Whatever evil lurks in these woods cannot find you if you only wear the ring_ , these thoughts told him. _You can put it on and you can go, you can get away from here._

Bilbo shook his head, hard, dispelling the thoughts with effort. They were tempting, he had to admit, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave his friends to their fate – he cared for them too much. His eyes found Thorin’s back as they walked, and he found a little extra energy to keep going.

After days of wandering, they found themselves approaching a wide river. Beorn had warned them that this river was one of the dangers of the wood – to drink from it or bathe in it was to lose yourself. Thankfully, they soon spotted a boat that the elves of Mirkwood used to cross, on the correct side of the bank no less. The boat was small, but they could cross in twos and threes. Bilbo gulped. Like all hobbits he could not swim, and he was terrified of drowning even without the added threat of whatever mind altering enchantment was laid upon it. He moved back unconsciously, and stumbled into Thorin, who was standing behind him.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “Careful, burglar,” Thorin cautioned, his voice distant, his eyes on the river. Then his gaze moved to Bilbo; it softened slightly, and the hand gentled. “Are you all right, Bilbo?”

“I-yes, yes. I’ll be fine.” Bilbo slid from under Thorin’s hand with a nervous smile, his eyes flickering back to the water.

Thorin frowned. He gently took Bilbo’s arm and led him towards the boat. Bilbo flinched away from the water instinctively, but then forced himself to walk forward.

“Balin, you and I will go first. Bilbo as well.”

Balin nodded and stepped into the boat, his movements slow so as not to disturb the water any more than necessary. He slid over to make room. Bilbo gulped, closed his eyes briefly then stepped forward.

“Don’t worry, Bilbo,” came Thorin’s quiet voice from behind him. “We will not let you come to harm.”

Bilbo steeled himself against his fear, then stepped into the boat.

Once they were all seated and moving, it wasn’t so bad. Bilbo was seated in the middle of the other two, the smallness of the boat meant that they were squashed quite closely – Balin’s back to Bilbo’s front and Bilbo resting snugly against Thorin’s broad chest – and he knew that he would not go over with the two of them so tightly pressed against him. If he kept his focus on the bank and not on the water they were on, it was almost pleasant. For just one moment, Bilbo closed his eyes and let himself enjoy being so close to Thorin; let himself press back slightly into his comforting bulk. Thorin let out a small sigh; he shifted slightly, which brought him infinitesimally closer to Bilbo. For a moment, Bilbo thought he felt a chin come down to rest on the top of his head, the touch so light that it was barely there, and his eyes popped open in surprise. The sensation was gone as soon as it came, and he supposed that he must have imagined it.

Pleasant journey or not, he was relieved when the boat stopped and he could once again get his feet on solid ground. He made no protest as he was lifted out and handed off to Balin – he was too eager to be away from the water for that. As the boat traveled back to the others, Balin gave him a smile.

“Not fan of the water, lad?”

Bilbo shook his head. “Not at all. It’s pretty to look at, but I prefer to keep my feet firmly on the ground, thank you.”

“I imagine you aren’t fond of swimming, then.”

“Oh, I can’t swim,” Bilbo answered matter-of-factly, “most hobbits don’t, you know. Don’t see the point of getting wet and risking drowning when there is enough merriment to be had while dry.

Thorin, who had been watching the slow progress of Kili and Fili in the boat, turned to look at him. “You should at least learn for survival;s sake.”

“Perhaps. But most of us don’t live near water, so there really is no reason to learn, at least not any practical one. The thought of drowning is enough to keep most of us away from it, generally, and I suppose there just never seemed to be a point to it.”

Thorin shook his head, but made no reply.

It took them some time to get the full Company across the river, for they had to go slowly, doing their best not to splash any water in the boat. Beorn hadn’t said what might happen if they merely touched the water, but they weren’t taking any chances. Bilbo watched from his relative safety on the other side as the boat made its slow passage back and forth between the banks, until at last it only Bombur left to cross. He positioned himself well and began to move.

Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief. Once Bombur was over, they could move away from the water, for which he at least was grateful. He felt lighter just knowing that they had managed to pass the wood’s first real test, seeing Thorin peering at him worriedly he sent him a smile. Thorin smiled back, and Kili, who was next to him, raised his eyebrow at Bilbo and smirked. “Stop making eyes at each other, you two,” he said loudly, making the others laugh and Bilbo blush to the roots of his hair. Thorin turned to glare at his nephew, and his mouth fell open in horror.

“Bombur!” he cried, and everyone turned to see Bombur standing in the boat, his arms pin wheeling wildly as he tilted back towards the water. A dozen bodies flung themselves forward, a dozen hands reached out, but too late; Bombur slid back into the water.

Uncaring now of the curse that lay upon the water, Bofur and Bifur both flung themselves into the river, grabbed hold of their brother and dragged him back ashore. Bombur coughed and turned his head; a spray of water flew from his lips and hit the bank beside him. His eyes fluttered briefly before closing, and naught that anyone did could make them open again.

“We’ll have to carry him,” Thorin finally said. “We will do so in shifts. Hopefully he will waken soon.”

They made a makeshift cot for Bombur out of sticks and bedrolls, which took enough time that they decided to make camp a bit farther from the river. There was no hot food to be had – even had their most reliable cook not been incapacitated, they had run out of anything but bread, cheese, and water – and after they ate, everyone went to bed. None were in the mood to talk. As Bilbo tried to make himself comfortable on the hard ground, he caught himself thinking wistfully of Beorn’s house, and forced himself to put it out of his mind.

“Bifur and I will go first, as it’s our fool brother who fell in the river,” Bofur offeredng to the next morning, unshouldering his pack. Beside him, Bifur nodded and did the same. They took what they needed from their packs, then left what they didn’t there on the path. Bilbo hated to do it but he could see the logic behind it. They were all weak, all tired, and now they had the added weight of Bombur to worry about. They had to take only as much as they needed.

With Bombur adding extra weight, they moved even more slowly, and shortly their dwindling supply of food had completely run out. Very soon after this tempers began to flair, and Bifur and Oin nearly came to blows when the latter mentioned that it would have to be the fattest member of their company that needed to be carried. The rumbling of hungry bellies was the soundtrack to their days, and they all grew weak and exhausted. They began to see things – lights in the distance, fires that weren’t there – and hear merrymaking that never sounded closer no matter how far they traveled.

Perhaps that was why they strayed from the path, though Bilbo sometimes wondered. There was something unpleasant about the woods, something almost oily, and he thought sometimes that it worked on them in the late and early hours, almost as if it were whispering, leading them to make foolish decisions. But whatever the reason, one day as they were walking, Nori suddenly cried, “I smell food!” and bolted off the path and into the wood.

“Nori!” they all cried back, and hastened to follow. Bombur was hastily set down by Bilbo with the understanding that he would stay with him, and then they were gone, and Bilbo was alone with only a slumbering dwarf for company. He could hear the others calling for a while, but eventually their voices faded out, and the darkness seemed to grow. Bilbo fidgeted nervously. He wanted to run after the others, but he couldn’t leave Bombur either.

Hesitantly, he called each of their names, but heard no reply. “Oh, no,” he fretted, pacing back and forth, “something has happened, and I need to help, but what can I do? I can’t leave Bombur here, but if I don’t I might never see my other friends again. What should I do?”

He paused, hearing voices. His friends? He perked up, listening hard, but the voices were lighter than any of the Company, and they were coming right for him. Bilbo cast another worried look at Bombur, then did the only thing he could: he slipped on his ring.

Onto the path stepped two elves. They stopped when they caught sight of Bombur.

“Another one. Do you think he’s with the first?” One asked, tilting his head.

The other laughed. “Of course he must be – how likely is it that two unrelated dwarves would be in our midst? Then again, perhaps he left his companion here on purpose, else why would he be lying on the path alone?”

“We should take this one, too. The King will sort it out.”

They picked Bombur up and disappeared into the trees. Bilbo followed, but the elves were much swifter than he was and he soon lost sight of them.

“Wonderful,” he told himself, “Now I’ve lost the path as well; oh why didn’t we listen to Gandalf and Beorn? We could have avoided this. And what did they mean, other one? Have they caught one of the company? Who? What a mess this has turned into!”

He was so lost in his head that he didn’t see the web until he’d walked into it. He let out a small cry and tugged, but the web held fast. He heard a clicking, skittering noise over his head and looked up. A giant spider was racing at him from above, and Bilbo choked back a scream. His free hand groped at his side, grasping for his little sword.

The spider stopped before it could reach him. It chittered, and Bilbo realized that it was speaking.

“Now where could it be? I know I felt something tug the web from over here, but there is nothing.”

Bilbo got his sword free. Ignoring the piece of him stuck to the web for the moment, he slashed upward, catching the massive spider across the face. It screamed.

“What got me? What dared? Oh, it stings. It burns. Where is it? I will kill it and rend its flesh with my teeth.”

Bilbo slashed upward again, and again, until the spider was dead. Bilbo looked at his little sword with pride. “Letter opener you may be, but now you have seen more than one battle, and you deserve a name. _Sting._ ” The name struck a chord deep inside of him; he knew it was the right one.

He took a moment to breathe, then cut himself from the web. He needed to find his friends, but he hadn’t the faintest idea where to start. Finally he decided that he would go in the direction that most of the calls that he had heard earlier seemed to come from. The webs grew thicker and more numerous as he walked, but Bilbo had the feeling that he was getting closer, all the same.

Sure enough, he eventually found himself in the midst of a dozen or more spiders, all conversing over whether or not to eat his friends. Bilbo could have screamed. Instead he crept away from the webs as quickly and quietly as possible, going as far as he dared before he began to beat the web strands nearest him, drawing the spiders his way. He led them farther and farther off before making his way back to where his friends were.

He didn’t have much time, he knew. He didn’t have time to be gentle about it, so cut them down one after the other, relying on the other webs to soften the blows and wincing slightly when one or two heads met tree branches. Once they were all down he climbed back down the tree and released them from the cocoons they’d been encased in, but they were all in a deep slumber and would not wake.

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me!” he cried out, and then turned as he heard the spiders return.

“Our meal!” they cried, and headed for the unconscious dwarves. Bilbo brandished his sword with no idea how he was going to fend them all off, but as luck would have it, the others woke up and leapt to their feet to help. They were dazed, but between all of them and Bilbo they managed to fend the spiders off. During the panic Bilbo managed to slide off his ring without anyone noticing. The dwarves, still a bit befuddled by the spider’s poison and their fall, believed him to have always been there, and to have escaped the notice of both elves and spiders by virtue of being small and easily overlooked. Bilbo for his part was willing to let them believe it. He didn’t want to explain his ring; he had a vague idea that they might want to take it and use it for themselves, and the thought made him strangely angry. It was his ring.

“But where is Thorin?” Bofur asked, looking around.

“Oh, no,” Bilbo answered, and then explained about what he had overheard the Wood elves say when they’d taken Bombur. The news dismayed the others.

“How are we to find them?” Dwalin demanded, scowling. “We have no idea where the elves are or how to find them.”

“We have to try,” Kili insisted, looking panicked.

Fili clapped him on the shoulder. “We will. We just need a place to start.” He turned to Bilbo. “Do you remember which direction they headed, at the very least?”

Bilbo shook his head miserably. “I could tell you which direction they took from the path, but we’re far from that.”

“Well, we can’t stay here,” Balin offered. “We must keep moving; those couldn’t have been the only spiders in the forest.”

That, at least, was something they could all agree on, and after much mumbling they decided on a direction and set out.

After some time they reached a little clearing, where the signs of a recent fire were evident. “So we _did_ see lights in the wood!” Kili cried. “It was the elves.”

Bilbo turned in a circle. The little clearing did seem to hold a bit of magic; the darkness that covered the entire wood seemed less thick around it. He felt suddenly lighter, as well. As though everything would somehow work out, even if things seemed a bit hopeless.

“Wonderful, great, it was the elves,” Dwalin said, unimpressed. “Now how do we find them?”

“Perhaps, dwarf, they will find you,” came a voice, and a dozen elves slipped from the trees, bows and arrows at ready. Bilbo acted without thinking. While his companions cried out in surprise and dismay, he slipped his ring on and moved out of the way, but not before whispering to Balin that he’d be right behind them. The old dwarf started a little, but otherwise showed no response.

Any other time and the entire Company would resist being captured by elves – would rather die than be taken alive by the very creatures who had refused to help them in their time of need. These, however, were special circumstances, and instead of fighting they allowed their eyes to be covered and their hands to be bound, and only dragged their feet a little as they were led to the elves’ home, Bilbo following behind. It was much easier to follow the elves when they had a troop of dwarves as prisoners, and thus when the dwarves were led to the dwelling place of the fair folk of Mirkwood, their little burglar was not far behind.

~****~

The dwarves were brought straight to the king of the woodland elves, but Bilbo did not follow. Instead he made it his mission to find where they were keeping Bombur and Thorin. He knew he would have to be very careful, for though he could not be seen, elven ears were very sharp, and any sound might bring them down on him. It wouldn’t do to have the entire Company held captive.

He found that the home of these elves was just as splendid as the one in Rivendell, but whether because they had imprisoned his friend or because of the Wood itself, Bilbo felt that there was something wrong with it. It was a cold, unwelcoming beauty, and unlike Rivendell he had no urge to explore its wonders. He wanted only to escape as soon as possible.

He found Bombur first. The dwarf had awakened from his slumber in the caves very confused, not knowing where he was and thinking that he’d just spent the night in a comfortable hobbit hole.

“Those blasted elves wouldn’t believe me. They laughed and put me in here and that’s the last of it – I haven’t spoken to anyone else.” He looked Bilbo over curiously. “So you decided to come after all, then. You lost me a fair amount of coin, burglar.” He smiled to show he meant no offense, then shook his head. “So I fell into a river and woke up with half my memory missing. And we’ve all been captured by elves. Are you sure this isn’t a dream? I had the strangest dreams while I was asleep…”

Bilbo grinned wryly. “If it’s a dream, then I am sharing it with you, and so is everyone else. Perhaps we all fell into the river.”

Thorin was being held in the cell farthest from Bombur. He had been questioned by Thranduil, King of the Mirkwood elves, at length, and had been put in the cell when he had refused to answer any of the questions put to him. He had been fed and his wounds had been tended to, but none would speak to him, so he had no way of knowing if his companions were safe. To say that he was pleased to see Bilbo was an understatement. His gave a delighted grin, and was speaking before Bilbo could so much as open his mouth.

“Bilbo! I am glad to see you well, and out of the hands of my captors. Tell me, what of the others? Fili? Kili?”

“They are here, all of them. They were brought before the King, but I am sure they will soon be down here with you and Bombur soon enough.” Bilbo refrained from mentioning the spiders – Thorin looked frantic enough. “How are you? You look better than the last time I saw you. Have they been treating you well?”

Thorin growled. “Treating me well, when they’ve locked me up in a cell and kept me from my quest? Oh, they’ve fed me and tended to me, yes, but I am also forbidden to leave until I give their _King_ answers to questions he should not ask.”

Bilbo sighed. He’d listened enough to know that Thorin’s hatred of the elves stemmed from King Thranduil’s refusal to fight alongside Erebor when the dragon Smaug had come. He could almost understand the reasoning behind the choice, though it was very hard to look past the love he felt for his friends. Almost. What he couldn’t understand was what right this elven King had to hate the dwarves that he had essentially betrayed.

He shook his head. Figuring out Thranduil’s motives would not help his friends. He needed to focus. “Have you any idea how we might escape?”

Thorin gave him a flat look. “I have been confined to a cell or in audience with _His Majesty_ since I was brought here. What plan would you like?”

Bilbo gave him his look right back. “You’ve done nothing but sit here and seethe, haven’t you? What would you have done if we had never shown up?”

A scowl was his only reply. “I haven’t been here terribly long. I’d have thought of something.”

“Well, I’m terribly glad to hear that.” He sighed. “Luckily, they do not know that there was a hobbit among you. I will stay out of sight and find out what I can, but you must think, too. You can’t allow your hatred of these elves to keep you from thinking clearly.”

Thorin scowled even more heavily, and for a moment Bilbo feared he had made a horrible mistake, but then his face softened. “I will do my best,” he answered, shaking his head. “You seem to be making a habit out of saving us, Master Baggins. I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you are here.”

Bilbo blushed. “Be grateful after we get you out of here.”

Thorin smiled. He reached out and grasped one of Bilbo’s hands where it rested on the bars of his cell. “I will be even more so then, I’m sure,” he said, voice low, and Bilbo backed away hastily, his eyes wide.

“I…I should really go and see about the others. Tell them you’re okay. I’ll be back soon.” And he fled.

Once out of Thorin’s sight, Bilbo stopped to catch his breath. His face was still hot, his hand burned where Thorin had touched him, and he was shaking. That touch, that soft voice…it didn’t mean what Bilbo thought. It couldn’t, no matter how desperately he wished for it. He couldn’t allow Thorin to become a victim of his Curse. If he were starting to feel a fondness for Bilbo, horrible things would surely follow. He wouldn’t let that happen.

 _I just…have to get us back to where we were before_ , he thought, eyes stinging. _Back to when he barely noticed me. If I love him, that is fine, but he must never know, and never feel the same._

With that thought in mind, Bilbo straightened his shoulders and slipped on his Ring. He had to see if the others had been brought to the dungeons. They needed to know that their King was alive and well, and he needed to get started on finding out how to get them all out of their prison and back on the journey. He would be quick, clever, and useful, no more and no less, and should his heart break along the way, well, that was no one’s business but his own. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, another chapter. I really hope y'all are still reading and enjoying, and if you have anything to say, I'd love to hear it. :)


	10. Chapter 10

Even with the Ring, it took all of Bilbo’s wits and stealth to sneak about the caves without attracting the notice of the elves. Going unseen was all well and good, but the Ring did not mask any noise he might make, and elf hearing was so good that they could hear the drop of a leaf on the forest floor above them, even far underground. More than once Bilbo blessed his feet, made perfectly for moving about noiselessly.

The Company had been separated to cells in ones and twos, and until Bilbo told them differently none knew where there king had been placed. Bilbo took to visiting each of them during the day, returning to Thorin only to pass along their messages, which came fast and frequent. In between he did his best to find them a way out of there. He knew that he would need to steal the keys to the cells, but he hadn’t a clue what to do once they were out. He became frazzled and worn down – he could not sleep well for fear of discovery, and he dare not steal any food. The others were generous about providing him sustenance from their own meals, squirreling away small portions so that he might have something for himself when he settled down with them for the evening. These meals were both a blessing and a curse.

“All I’m saying, laddie, is that nothing good can come of consorting with elves. They’re faithless and their vows easily broken. Trust me, that she-elf of yours will bring you nothing but ruin. Now, once we’ve reclaimed Erebor, we’ll find you a nice dwarven lass. Someone like my Nyr, that’s the ticket. Have I ever mentioned my Nyr, Bilbo? Lovely lass, she is. Best beard in all of-“

“Yes, yes, we’ve heard all about Nyr and her wonderful beard.” Ignoring Gloin’s shout of indignation at the interruption, Kili turned imploring eyes on Bilbo. “I’m not trying to marry her, just, would it be so bad to make an ally of one or two of them? If she feels enough sympathy, maybe…”

Bilbo knew well enough that Kili was doing his best to convince himself. He’d seen the light in his eyes when he looked at and talked to the pretty elf. For his part, Bilbo didn’t quite understand it. She was pretty enough, but so very tall...also it was so sudden, this shine in Kili’s eyes, but he wasn’t one to speak of _that_ , considering he’d been caught by Thorin Oakenshield the moment he’d stepped through his door.

Still, sympathy or not, they would not be released from their prisons by any elf. No, that job would be solely Bilbo’s, and he thought he might be closer than ever to doing so.

He stood. “I must speak with Thorin. I will see you again very soon, and perhaps the next time I do it will be to get you out of here.”

Gloin cheered, and Kili smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. He’d gotten used to his conversations with the elf, come to expect them, and they would be sorely missed. Bilbo understood, and he felt for his friend, but the personal feelings of any member of the Company would never, could never take precedence over reclaiming Erebor.

When Bilbo got close to Thorin’s cell, he heard voices and paused, pressing himself against the wall. He crept closer, straining to hear.

“-can take his deals and his pretty words and keep them. I know well what the word of an elf means, and I will tell him nothing.”

“Perhaps you will find your tongue loosened in a few days’ time, Master Oakenshield. My king is patient, and he can afford to wait. Can you?”

Silence from Thorin, and soon after one of the elf guards swept past Bilbo. He waited a bit to make sure that he was really gone, then slipped off his ring and stepped into Thorin’s line of sight.

“Have you messages from the others?”

“Nothing new, just that they are still being treated well and are ready to leave. I am not here about them this time. I think I might have found a way to get you all out of here.”

Thorin perked up considerably at that. “Tell me.”

Bilbo laid out the plan. It would take a great deal of stealth on his part, but not much more than what had already been asked of him. He was confident he could do it. It was the best option that they would have for a while. The elves would feast and drink long into the night, and thus their attention would be mostly elsewhere. Thorin agreed.

“There is much that can go wrong, but I fear we don’t have the time to plan for everything. Perhaps that is best.” He sighed heavily. “I will be glad to be out of here; I am sick of these audiences with Thranduil.”

Bilbo fidgeted slightly. He wanted to ask desperately, but did not feel he could. Thorin had grown distant with him again, just as he’d planned, and would not welcome his inquiries.

“Oh, sit down and stop your twitching. I’ve saved you some food. Relax a moment, and eat it, and I will answer the questions you will not ask.” He pushed some food through the bars, and Bilbo took it, sitting down hesitantly. Thorin shook his head. “You act as though I am going to harm you, Master Baggins,” he said, sitting down himself. “And yet it was not I who put this rift between us. I would know why, if you would be so kind.”

Bilbo scrambled up, clutching a bit of bread in his hand. “I should go. I have to explain the plan to the others.” He turned away.

“Bilbo.” The soft voice stopped him before he could walk away. He could not turn around, but he could not move forward, either. All he could do was listen. “I know that I was unjust to you in the beginning; I treated you harshly and thought of you as only a burden. It was badly done of me, and I would take it back if I could. I had thought that we had moved beyond it, but still you avoid me whenever possible.” His voice got even lower, and Bilbo heard a thread of hurt in it that made him ache. “I don’t understand what I’ve don’t to make you hate me so.”

Bilbo closed his eyes. He wanted to walk away, to break that last thread of fond feeling that Thorin held for him, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let Thorin think himself the cause of Bilbo’s avoidance. He had to know that the problem was all Bilbo. He turned around.

“No, Thorin. No. You’ve done nothing. You’re wonderful. Well, you have an awful temper, are far too apt to hold a grudge, too used to having your own way, and very grumpy. But you’re also strong, and determined, and…it’s me. It’s not good for me to become too close to anyone, but especially not to you, for reasons which I can’t really explain-“

“If you are trying to inform me of a curse on your bloodline, I am already aware.” Thorin interrupted gently.

Bilbo stared, then nodded. “How...?”

Thorin grinned. His countenance was much cheerier than it should be, Bilbo thought sourly, for someone who had just been informed that getting close to Bilbo would likely kill him. “I told you that I got lost trying to find your Bag End; the locals were very keen to tell me all about one Master Baggins, and how it was a shame that he could never find himself a nice lass to settle down with, what with the horrible curse laid upon his family. They wanted me to understand the full tragedy of such a _respectable_ hobbit having to spend his best years in solitude.” His grin grew. “I have to admit that I did not pay it much mind at first, for they told me that you would be respectable, and that turned out to be a terrible falsehood.”

Bilbo’s hackles rose. “I will have you know that I was perfectly respectable before you lot showed up. The very picture of respectability.”

“And yet here you are, planning to break twelve dwarves from an elvish prison, and then continue on to face a dragon and steal back a kingdom.” Thorin schooled his face into a serious expression, but it was foiled by the way his mouth kept twitching. “Hardly what I would call a respectable endeavor.”

“Perhaps I will leave you here, Thorin Oakenshield, for mocking me when I’m doing you the favor of explaining why I-“

“It is a favor, and I appreciate it. However, I refuse to accept it.”

“Refuse to…you can’t just refuse to accept it! That’s not how this works!” Bilbo fought to keep his voice low. Honestly, they could have picked a better time and place for this. Thorin shook his head obstinately, and Bilbo gave up on trying to reason with him. He turned away again. “Accept or deny it as you choose; it does not matter. It is enough that I have made _my_ choice, and that you are too good to ignore my wishes in this matter. Let it go, Thorin. Please.”

Thorin sighed heavily. “If that is what you truly wish.”

“It is.”

“Then it is done. We shall not speak of it again, Master Baggins. You’d best go, and inform the others of your plans. Let them know that their captivity is nearly at its end.”

Bilbo fled. It was awfully cowardly to do so, but he would have been lying if he said he wasn’t relieved. Despite his love for Thorin, there was a part of him that preferred his solitary life. That part of him was almost grateful for the excuse of the Took Curse, because it meant that he would be able to stay alone and comfortable in his little home, with no one he need adjust his habits for. That part of him hastened his feet to the others, while the rest of him wished desperately that circumstances were different, that the Took Curse did not exist at all.

~****~

If there was any doubt in the others about Bilbo’s plan, it was dismissed as soon as they learned of Thorin’s approval. Once that they learned that their King was in favor of it, they were only impatient to implement the plan immediately, and Bilbo found that he had to calm down more than one irate dwarf who did not understand the need to wait even one more second. The only dwarf who made no protest at the delay was Kili, and Bilbo’s heart ached with sympathy for the pain he saw in his eyes. He left that cell quickly, not liking to see his friend so upset.

“Explain it to me again,” Fili said, while next to him Balin shook his head. “Why is it that we cannot leave right now? Surely you can steal the keys just as well tonight as tomorrow.”

Bilbo sighed. “Tomorrow there is to be a great feast,” he explained for the fiftieth time. “The elves will be occupied with food and wine, and too busy making merry to pay much attention to you lot. It will make it easier for all of us to pass undetected.”

“And once we’re out, what then?”

“Let it go, laddie. Why don’t you trust that Master Baggins has this well in hand? He has yet to disappoint when it matters.”

Fili subsided, grumbling, and Balin sent a wink at Bilbo, who smiled ruefully back. He did not think that Balin would be so quick to trust his judgment when he realized just how Bilbo planned to get them to Laketown.

Sure enough, none of the dwarves was particularly happy when instead of leading them up and out of the elven caves, he led them farther down. They were even less amused to realize how they were supposed to make their grand escape.

“We won’t do it,” they grumbled, poking at the barrels with their feet. “We’ll get wet, and dizzy. Water will leak in the holes and we will bump our heads. Do you want us to arrive in Laketown bruised and disoriented and soggy? Find another way.”

Finally Bilbo had enough. “You will do it,” he said, “because it is the only way. Or if you like, you can hop back into your cells and wait, and if you’re very lucky, I won’t leave you to your fates.” He would never truly desert them, of course, but they weren’t to know that. He could hear someone coming; they did not have the time to be convinced.

This got them all moving, at least. With a nod from Thorin each found an empty barrel and climbed in, and Bilbo did his best to plug all the holes and seal them tightly. When the last dwarf was in he put on his ring, and just in time, for some elves came in just after.

“-don’t see why we had to leave the feast,” one grumbled to the others. “the guards could have done this just as well.”

“Ah, but they deserve their time to eat, and make merry. It can’t be pleasant, looking after those dwarves day in and day out. I would not relish the job myself.”

“Tauriel seems to enjoy it. We should have sent her to keep watch, and send off the barrels. Surely she’d have enjoyed being with her new little _friend_.” Kili’s small squawk at this was thankfully covered up by the elves’ laughter.

“Enough of that. Let’s just get these barrels out and get back to the feast. There is more wine to be had.”

The elves began to lift the barrels. “These are quite heavy for being empty,” one remarked. “Are you sure that these are the ones we’re supposed to send?”

“Are you implying that I have made a mistake?” the first inquired, sounding not at all pleased.

“Of course not; I just don’t want to be the one to blame if the King’s best wine is sent to the men of Laketown.”

“I thought you wanted to get back to the feast? If so, quit prattling and do your job.”

After that, all merriment ceased, and it was in silence that a door into the floor was opened and the barrels were shoved out one at a time. Bilbo let a small sigh of relief escape him, then realized that soon all of the barrels would be in the water, and he would be left alone with the elves. He scrambled for a barrel, and managed to get hold the last one just as it was pushed into the river below.

Bilbo very nearly lost his grip; his fingers scrabbled uselessly at the top of the barrel as his head went underwater, bobbed back up, and went under again. A terrible panic came over him and his fingers clenched convulsively on the lip of the barrel. He gasped and choked and shivered as the barrels began their slow journey with the current, clinging for his life and praying for it to be over.  He bitterly regretted his plan now, and would have given anything to be rattling around in one of the barrels that his friends had been so reluctant to hide in. “At least I’d be mostly dry. Mostly dry and not in danger of drowning. Oh, if even one of them complains when they are let out, I will give him a piece of my mind. See how they would like it, clinging to the side of a barrel like a rat, soaked to the bone and shivering. Much comfier inside, with straw to wedge them in nice and tidy. Oh, Bilbo, hold on. Hold on and don’t let go!”

Hold on Bilbo did, despite the jostling of the other barrels against his own, and after what seemed like years the barrels came to rest along a bank, and he was able to safely wade to shore, where he fell on his back and blessed the ground upon which he lay. “If I never see a river again it will be too soon,” he said, doing his best to wring the water out of his clothes. He sneezed loudly. “And now a cold! It feels as if I shall never be warm again.”

Still, he had to see to his friends. Shivering, wet, and miserable, he let each one out of his barrel, and if any of them – each pretty miserable himself, truth be told – thought to complain, one look at their burglar’s red nose and watering eyes stopped them from voicing it. It was obvious to all of them that Bilbo was feeling the effects of an awful cold, and it was that even more than his own discomfort that had Thorin saying, “Come. Let us see if Laketown has any warm beds and dry clothes that we might make use of.”

Laketown did have warm beds and clothes; in fact, once they fully believed that the leader of the Company was indeed _that_ Thorin the people were more than eager to welcome them all. They bought them food and drinks and sang songs, but for his part Bilbo wanted none of it; as soon as it was polite to do so he took himself to the room he was to share with Dori and Ori and crawled into bed, where he fell into a deep sleep despite his sniffling and sneezing in the night. He slept so deeply that he did not hear either of his companions come up, nor did he hear their whispered conversation when they saw his sleeping face screwed up in misery.

The next morning he woke, still feeling groggy. He was hungry, but the idea of getting up for food was wholly unappealing. He would stay in bed, he decided, and get up when he could go more than a minute without sneezing, for he truly had a frightful cold. He closed his eyes and slipped back into sleep, waking only when he felt his shoulder being shaken lightly, and heard a voice calling his name.

“Whasit?” he slurred, blinking open bleary eyes.

Dori peered at him worriedly. He held a steaming bowl of something in one hand, and there was a small mug on the table next to the bed.

“You’ve been sleeping all day, Master Baggins,” he said, setting the bowl beside the mug on the table and moving to help Bilbo sit up. “We we’re worried.

Bilbo waved him away. “I’m fine, truly. It’s just a small cold,” he said, or tried to. What came out didn’t sound so much like the sentence he was trying for as a garbled mess of nearly unintelligible syllables. He sniffled and wiped at his nose. “Maybe not so small,” he acknowledged, and Dori cocked a brow.

“You’ll not be leaving bed anytime soon, at any rate,” he said firmly. “I have brought you some soup and some tea to soothe your throat. Ori and I will bring you meals until you are well enough to join us.”

“That’s silly. I’m perfectly capable of getting up,” Bilbo cried, or rather, “Dad’s siwwy. I’be berbecdly  cabable ob geddig ub.” He tried to leave the bed, but was firmly shoved back down.

“No, no. You stay there. Rest. I’ll be back later to grab the dishes.” Dori fussed with his blankets a bit, making Bilbo bat at him weakly.

“This is really too much,” he cried, and Dori straightened.

“You saved Thorin from the pale orcs blade; in the Mirkwood you fought a dozen spiders to help us. You got us out of the cells and into Laketown. Without you, we would still be in the Mirkwood, trapped or dead. This is not too much; it is not nearly enough.”

Bilbo gaped. He could think of nothing to say that would not hurt Dori. The dwarf nodded, satisfied. “Eat that while it’s hot,” he said, nodding at the soup, then left the room.

Bilbo did as he was bid, feeling warmed by more than the soup and tea, which did soothe his poor throat. He had done his best to help his friends throughout the journey, never wanting or expecting thanks for it. He had helped because he cared for each of them and wanted them to succeed on their quest, and because not helping them when they were so dear went against his very grain. However, it was nice to know his efforts were appreciated. With a belly full of hot soup, in a comfortable bed for the first in what felt like an age, Bilbo once again fell asleep.

He woke the next morning to the clicking of needles, and opened bleary eyes to see Ori sitting in a chair and knitting. He watched him for a few minutes, and then Ori looked up and smiled at him.

“How are you feeling today?”

“Better,” Bilbo said, though his words were still clogged. He coughed. “Still tired, though I doubt I will spend the day asleep again. I might even make it down for breakfast.”

“Oh, breakfast has long passed. It’s nearly lunch now. If you wait a moment I will bring you something.”

“Oh, no, I am sure I can make it to table today.” Bilbo pushed back his covers and made to get out of bed, but Ori put his knitting aside and got up, pushing Bilbo back down into the pillows.

“No, no. Oin says that you are to, stay abed at least one more day, and stay there you shall. Dori will never let me hear the end of it if you don’t. Now, you just sit there and rest, and I will bring you something to eat.”

So Bilbo rested, but not happily. He was glad to be able to stop for a while, that was true, but it was very boring to lie around in bed all day long with nothing to do. Ori brought up some books with his meal so Bilbo wasn’t entirely without entertainment, but he wanted to be out looking at all the new things there were to be seen, not stuck inside with only the four walls of his room to gaze at.

Ori sat by his side for most of the day, knitting complacently. Just before supper Bilbo put down his book and peered curiously at the bundle of fabric in his companion’s lap. “What are you making, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I don’t mind at all,” Ori assured him, smiling. “It’s a pair of gloves. I noticed that you don’t have any, and your hands must get awfully cold in the winter, so I thought I’d make you up a pair while we’re here. It shouldn’t be too long before they’re finished.”

“For me? That’s very thoughtful of you, Ori. Thank you.”

“It’s no problem at all, really. I’ve made Dori and Nori’s gloves for years; Kili and Fili’s as well. I’m happy to do it.”

“I can’t wait to try them out – I’m sure they’ll be lovely.”

Ori beamed at him happily. “I’ve had no complaints so far.”

The gloves were ready the next day, and Bilbo was able to put them on and exclaim over them before heading down to eat with the others. They were very warm, and he felt fondness wash over him every time he caught sight of them on his hands. It was so very good to have friends, he thought to himself as his greeted him cheerily and made room at their table. Good to be with them, and share in a meal and their company.

He wasn’t left out of it for very long as they continued their stay in Laketown. Full of good food and ale, and in high spirits due to the warm welcome of the townspeople, the dwarves began to look at their burglar with warmer and warmer regard, often telling tales of how he had saved them all at one point or another in their journey, enough to embarrass the poor hobbit more often than not – especially when they started to sing. Often he slid away from them in their rowdier moments, cheeks burning at their overzealous praise, to find a quiet corner and hide.

He did his best not to meet anyone’s eyes when he did this, so it happened that one night when he was fleeing from too much attention he very nearly sat on a man who had been watching the festivities with a frown on his face.

“Oh, I am sorry. I didn’t see you there!”

The man pulled his eyes away from the reveling dwarves. He observed Bilbo coolly. “Not in the mood for celebrating, then?”

“No, not really. It’s all well and good for a little while, but after a bit I just want to enjoy my tea in peace.”

The man’s mouth quirked. “Your friends, it would seem, do not share that opinion.” His eyes flickered to where the dwarves were still toasting Bilbo’s name and cheering, and Bilbo stiffened at the derision he saw there.

“My friends have had precious little to celebrate over the course of their lives; I do not think that anyone should begrudge them their merriment now,” he said, glaring. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

The man smiled, charmed despite himself at the little hobbit’s ire. “Come now, Master Baggins. Let us not quarrel. Allow me to buy you that tea you wish to drink; sit with me and talk a while. I apologize for any slight I have made against your friends.”

Bilbo tentatively sat down. “Thank you, Master…?” and he lifted an inquiring brow.

“Bard, at your service.” He inclined his head in a small bow, then signaled a passing barmaid for Bilbo’s tea and a refill of his own drink. “Bard the Bowman some call me, but I fear it is not out of any great respect for my skill. Now tell me why it is that your stout companions find cause to celebrate when you do not.”

“It’s not that I don’t enjoy a good party – I like them as much as the next hobbit. It’s just a little embarrassing to be the one they keep toasting to. I wish they wouldn’t.”

Bard the Bowman laughed lightly. “Ah, but you give them an excuse to celebrate, when they have yet to face the dragon.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened. They’d said nothing of their reason for coming here, and no one had asked. He had assumed they did not care, but he had obviously been wrong. “Dragon?” he said, voice high. “I don’t…”

“Now, Master Baggins, don’t pretend not to take my meaning. It’s true that most of the people here do not fully believe the dragon is real, nor do they fully believe that your King Under the Mountain is who he claims to be. They, like your fine friends, enjoy any cause they are given to celebrate. I, however, do believe it, and if Thorin, son of Thror is real, then the dragon must be as well.” His eyes drifted to where Thorin stood, his own eyes fixed on the view from the window by which he sat. Bilbo did not need to look through it himself to know that his gaze was fixed on his mountain. He was getting restless; they would soon be moving on.

Bilbo took his eyes from Thorin to meet Bard’s amused stare. “I had wondered what cause a Halfling might have to travel with a bunch of dwarves intent on facing down Smaug the dragon,” he said, “but now I think I understand. You would do well to discourage him from this path.”

“Pardon me?”

“There is more than one song of the Lonely Mountain, my new little friend. More than one tale of its treasure. Not all of them so pretty as the one the people here have sung for you. No, not nearly so pretty. They say that gold is cursed, and that all who touch it are doomed by it. Speak to your King. Dissuade him from his course and save his life.”

Bilbo shook his head. “I will not, and to be perfectly honest I am half sick of curses and prophecies of doom. Does no one have anything better to do than worry about a bunch of words that may or may not be true? For my part I’m beginning to believe it all false.” He stood. “Thank you for the tea, Master Bard.”

Bard inclined his head. “You are welcome, Master Baggins. I sincerely hope that you are correct in your beliefs, although I fear that you are not.” He went back to watching the celebrating of the dwarves, his brow furrowed. Bilbo observed him for a moment, then walked away. His head was swirling with what Bard had told him; he half wanted to laugh, half cry. Were they really to contend with another curse? Wasn’t his enough?

Absorbed in his thoughts, he did not realize he was being followed until he was nearly at his door. Then, he finally heard the heavy tread behind him and whirled around, his hand going to his belt where he kept Sting sheathed.

Thorin regarded him with amusement. “Are you planning to run me through with that little sword of yours, Bilbo?” he asked, then seemed to catch himself. He straightened, and the bit of fondness that Bilbo had heard in his voice was completely absent as he continued. “I think that we have lingered in Laketown long enough; it is time we continue on. Be prepared to leave in the morning. I will tell the others.” Then he swept away, leaving Bilbo to stare after him with no small amount of regret.

He still felt that he had made the right decision to return to their former relationship, but he wondered if he would still make the same one, given another opportunity. He missed his friendship with Thorin, brief as it had been, and his heart ached with knowing that even that was out of his grasp. His only consolation was that occasionally, Thorin slipped in his coldness, betraying that he still harbored some feeling for Bilbo.  

“That shouldn’t make you happy, though,” he told himself as he readied for bed. “It’s unfair to him. You should be hoping that his indifference becomes real as soon as possible, so that he doesn’t wonder what might have happened had you just said yes. That is to be your lot; he should have none of it.” So saying, Bilbo lay down, already missing the comfortable bed with its soft blankets and fluffy pillows. _So most of Laketown believes the dragon to be dead_ he thought as he drifted off to sleep. _I wish it were. Then we could simply walk in and claim Erebor with no trouble. Would that it were the case…_ and thus Bilbo slept, and on his last night in Laketown dreamt not of the Shire’s rolling hills nor of the journey thus far, but rather of vast halls, the smell of fire, and serious eyes set in a face lined with worry, a voice telling him over and over that any who sought the vast treasure of Erebor would find only his own demise within its walls.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are wonderful. Thank you so much for the comments and kudos, and I really hope you enjoy this chapter. Please don't forget to tell me what you think!

~****~

Thorin was true to his word. The very next day the Company departed Laketown amidst cheers and songs and pleas to stay, though Bilbo noted that the Master himself did not seem particularly sincere in his wish that they would linger. Bilbo thought about how much the group had eaten and drank during their stay – all of it on the generosity of the town – and fully understood. His poor pantry had been decimated with only a night’s visit; a fortnight’s worth of eating and drinking did not bear thinking about.

They had been provided boats for their journey and soon they were sailing along the river, only Bilbo and Kili showing any reluctance to be off. For his part, Bilbo would simply prefer not to be upon the water once more – he had not had a single enjoyable experience upon it yet. Kili said nothing, but his eyes often drifted back towards Laketown, and then beyond, to the Mirkwood. Bilbo knew that he would look for a flash of red and green long after the wood was no longer in sight, and once again he felt for him. He glanced around at the others; none of them seemed to be aware of where Kili’s gaze was caught, but he noted that Fili was very determinedly not looking at his brother, and his brow was creased in a slight frown. The only other dwarf that Bilbo was worried about was Thorin, and he was far too busy staring longingly ahead to see that Kili kept looking behind.

Bilbo took a moment to watch Thorin, confident that he would not notice. Rested and well fed, he looked more like the Thorin Oakenshield that had first entered Bilbo’s little hobbit hole…but there was something about the tilt of his chin and the look in his eyes that was different. He was still the exiled King he’d been before, but now that his home was in sight and once again within his grasp, his bearing had become even more regal. The expression on his face was distant; he was not in the present but in some half-imagined, half-remembered life, a time when Erebor belonged to his people. The place he was in was far too lofty for Bilbo to reach, not even if he wanted to.

Bilbo gave an inward sigh and pulled his eyes away. It would do no good to be caught out staring at Thorin like some love-struck idiot barely out of his thirties. He cast a furtive glance at his companions; each was as lost in his own thoughts as Thorin. All except Balin. He caught Bilbo’s eye and then flicked his eyes between him and the brooding King, then sent him an amused wink.  Bilbo blushed and ducked his head, embarrassed. When he chanced looking up, Balin’s attention had moved elsewhere.

There was still a bit of traveling to accomplish before they reached the mountain, but with their bellies full and their bodies rested, the merriment returned to the Company. They had been provided with more than enough sustenance to last through the end of their journey, and so there was no danger of starvation. So far as the dwarves could see, there was nothing to get in the way of having a bit of a good time. Yes, there was a dragon to be faced, if he was even alive at all, but that would come when it came, and not a moment sooner. No need to bring trouble before it occurred on its own.

Even Bilbo, who was quite a bit more worried about the possibility of finding Smaug well and alive than his companions, got a bit caught up in their joy. It was hard to think of the pain of incineration, after all, when Kili and Fili walked beside, him, jostling him and each other companionably and taking bets over who could reach the next hill the fastest, or who’s eye was the sharpest, bickering over who had correctly identified the birds in the sky until Dwalin barked at them to shut up and walk before he cracked their idiot skulls together. Harder still to be nervous when every night there was much meat and much laughter and conversation and even music, Bofur and Nori pulling out small flutes and playing while Balin and Dwalin told tales of the feasts and revels of Erebor and Ori, Fili, Kili, and – much to the surprise of the others – Oin sang bawdy drinking songs, clanking their water skeins together as though they really were full of ale while nearby, Dori shook his head with a mix of consternation and amusement. Gloin took to speaking often and loudly of bringing his wife and his “wee lad Gimli” to Erebor as soon as everything was prepared, and Bifur would listen to all of it, occasionally breaking in loudly and saying something that made Bilbo start in surprise and the rest of the dwarves laugh, every time.

The only one who did not partake in the festivities was Thorin. As the days drew on his mind became more and more preoccupied with the mountain, as well as, Bilbo feared, what lay within it. He did not speak of the treasure, but sometimes Bilbo – who watched Thorin far more often than he ought and who still had Bard’s parting words ringing in his ears – thought he saw the smallest shift in his expression whenever one of the others did speak of it; a small spark in his eyes. It worried Bilbo, but he could hardly discuss his concern with the others. He was sure that they would laugh at him, and if they didn’t, he knew that they would insist that there was nothing wrong with Thorin thinking about the vast riches that were, in fact, his birthright. And he could hardly speak to Thorin about it – by Bilbo’s own design, he had not right to think that Thorin would listen. So Bilbo held his tongue and told himself that he was being paranoid, ridiculous, the curse that Bard spoke of couldn’t possibly be real. “Thorin is just eager to reclaim his home,” he said to himself one evening as he sat a bit away from the others, smoking, “so don’t you go reading anything into it. I do wish that Bard had never spoken to me of curses; it’s only making me see things that aren’t there. Best put it out of your mind, Bilbo Baggins. You’ve quite enough on your plate already without adding imaginary problems to it.”

“Talking to yourself again, laddie,” Balin asked, settling himself beside Bilbo and startling him quite out of his wits. “You do that rather a lot, I’ve noticed.”

 Bilbo laughed a bit, ducking his head. “That’s embarrassing. I didn’t think that anyone had been paying attention.”

“We pay attention enough,” Balin said mildly. He pulled out his pipe and tapped it a few times, then stuck it in his mouth. “Though I don’t suppose anyone else has cottoned on to how much attention you pay a certain leader of our little company.”

Bilbo’s face went hot. “I just find him interesting, is all.”

“Aye, he is, at that. And after all, you must look at something while we walk.” He blew a few smoke rings into the air. “Do you know what I’m looking forward to the most, when this journey reaches its end?”

 Bilbo sent him a grateful look. “What?”

“Getting some decent pipe weed. What I have right now is fine enough for traveling, but nothing compared to what we used to have. The Men of Rohan made some of the finest I’ve yet tasted.”

“That’s only because you haven’t had the occasion to try the Shire’s Longbottom Leaf,” Bilbo said with authority, “but don’t worry. When we retake Erebor the first thing you and I will do is sit down and smoke some of the finest leaf you’ve ever had, and that is a promise. “ He tipped his friend a wink. “I’ve been saving the last of it for just such an occasion.”

“Many thanks, Master Baggins. If it is as fine as you say then we might have to make an accord with your Shire.”

“That would be nice,” Bilbo said with a soft smile. “For more than the commerce. I would dearly love to see you all again once this is over.”

Balin studied him out of the corner of his eye. “Still planning on returning to your Bag End as soon as possible, then?” he asked, then “Aye, we’ll visit. Perhaps not all at once – I don’t know if your food stores could handle it.”

Bilbo let out a delighted laugh. “You’d be most welcome, all at once or otherwise. To tell you the truth,” and he leaned forward and lowered his voice, as if imparting a great secret, “you only emptied _one_ of my pantries. The rest of them were plenty full.” Thus saying, he put out his pipe, then hopped up and gave a low bow. “Goodnight!” he said cheerily, trying hard not to laugh all the harder at his friend’s face. He practically skipped off, feeling truly lighthearted for the first time since they’d left Laketown.

The good mood that pervaded the Company sobered when they reached what had once been the city of Dale. Even Fili and Kili were quiet; their eyes wide as they took in the destruction that Smaug had wrought. All around them were crumbling buildings and scorched earth; the once great city brought to its knees by the whim of the great dragon. That they could see how great the city had once been somehow made the experience worse: a horrible reminder of Smaug’s power.

Bilbo shivered. The place felt full of ghosts, and all he wanted was to be out of it. The sun would set soon, and he did not want to be in Dale in the dark. _Please let’s not stay here_ , he thought at Thorin, _I couldn’t bear it_. He knew that they wouldn’t, that the siren song of Erebor would be too strong for Thorin to call a halt for the night, but he worried all the same.  

Exactly as Bilbo thought, Thorin did not insist that they stop, but rather pushed them harder to try and beat the night. No made even a token protest; they all felt the same way as Bilbo. Each said to himself that he hoped that one day Dale might return to what it once was, but until then none wanted to spend more time in its empty shell than he had to.

There was a sense of urgency about them now. They were so close to being within the shadow of their old home, and never mind it was a home that most of them had only heard about. It called to them just the same, and even as the sun set they all kept moving, their eyes alight with the wonder of finally returning to where they belonged.

They made it to the foot of the mountain just after nightfall, and Thorin told them all to rest. “Tomorrow we must find the door,” he said, and the others agreed. They had timed things very well indeed: the next day was the very one on which the keyhole would be visible, according to the map that Thorin carried. Finding the door should be easy enough, they all reasoned, and then all they had left to do was wait.

Spirits were high that night, despite the damper that the city of Dale had put on them. They were too close to their goal not to be excited, and though they did eventually turn in they could not sleep for imagining what the ‘morrow would bring. Bilbo was also wide awake, though not entirely with excitement. His thoughts twisted and turned around the task that he was to perform the next day, and he finally came to the conclusion that the journey had clearly warped him in the worst way, because he was more eager to try his luck than not. The Bilbo Baggins before the quest, even the one that had left his comfortable home on a whim that he still didn’t understand would be quaking at the thought of facing a dragon. He would not feel the swoop in his belly that he’d always associated with his fairy hunts as a young hobbit. He would scoff at such a _Tookish_ emotion. _I am afraid I’ve become rather more Took than Baggins again_ he thought, then with a glance at Thorin, who was looking up at the mountain; _and yet I can’t regret it. Certain parts have been painful, and most of it terrifying, but all of it has been wonderful. I’ve made such friends; I’ve seen Rivendell and dined with Elves and Shape changers and Men. I’ve fought off wargs and orcs and Gollums in caves; I’ve matched my wits against trolls and spiders and rescued my friends from dungeons. I’ve flown on eagles. I’ve done things that no hobbit has, and I wouldn’t take it back for the world._

Thorin’s gaze left the mountain and caught Bilbo’s; Bilbo cursed inwardly and looked away. How silly to be caught out now! He turned on his bedroll, resolutely putting his back to Thorin, and met Kili’s eyes.

“You know,” he said softly, mindful of Fili who had finally fallen asleep and was snoring next to him, “I grew up hearing tales of Erebor and wanting to be here more than anything, and now that it’s finally arrived I find I’d rather be stuck in those cells in Mirkwood, speaking of the stars with Tauriel. Is that not strange?” he shook his head. “She never could have loved me, not with a million years in which to do so, and yet...I cannot stop thinking about her, no matter how I try.”

Bilbo hesitated, then reached out to grasp Kili’s arm. “I understand how you feel,” he replied in a low voice. “It’s difficult, to care for someone so much and know that they could never feel the same, and that there are too many obstacles in the way even if they did. I only wish that there was something I could do to help.”

Kili reached up to cover Bilbo’s hand with his own. “You are, Bilbo. I feel better just for having someone listen to me. Knowing that you do not judge me for my feelings, that you would help me and not think me insane is a comfort to me,“ he said with a small smile. “You’ve heard Gloin, and Fili is no better. He does not mention it, not aloud, but sometimes he looks at me, and I know I’ve disappointed him.”

“For Mahal’s sake, Kili, will you just _shut up_ ,” Fili groaned. “Your constant nattering is keeping me awake. I’m not disappointed, you idiot, I’m worried about you. But now is not the time to talk about it. Now is the time for both of you be quiet and go to sleep.”

Kili gaped, and Bilbo stifled a giggle into the palm of his hand. “That’s us told,” he said, grinning.

As what Fili had said finally registered, slow grin spread over Kili’s face as well. “I suppose it is, at that,” he said. “Goodnight, Bilbo.” He cuddled down next to his brother, and soon enough the both of them were snoring. Bilbo watched them fondly for a moment before turning on his back to gaze at the stars. He was sure that he would get no sleep, but it was good to be off his feet, at least. So thinking, Bilbo drifted off to sleep, unaware – perhaps fortunately, all things considered – that a certain pair of blue eyes had watched the entire exchange.

~****~

They were all up early the next morning, eager to look for a likely door. They had assumed that they would find it instantly, but it turned out to be more difficult than that, for there were plenty of spots that looked likely. Eventually Bilbo spotted it about halfway up the mountain’s face, and the others cheered and immediately began making their way towards it. Thorin clapped Bilbo on the back as he passed; his hand slid up to his shoulder and squeezed lightly. “You have keen eyes, Master Baggins,” he said, and Bilbo beamed up at him happily, quite forgetting in the moment that he was supposed to be working at putting distance between them. Thorin’s own smile grew wider at Bilbo’s response. He hesitated slightly, opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again, only clapping Bilbo once more on the back before he too began to climb towards the door.

Bilbo’s heart was racing; he shook his head at himself. “Hopeless,” he muttered, then followed the others. He didn’t really see what the rush was, to be honest. There were still hours to go before sunset – the map did say that last light of Durin’s Day, after all – and thus finding the door early wouldn’t make the sun set any faster. Still, the others were quite excited. They poked and prodded the door for a likely keyhole, and when they couldn’t see where one might be, they finally sat down, though they were by no means settled. They spoke animatedly of what they might find once they opened the door; Balin was applied to again and again for descriptions of what it had looked like before Smaug had come. He happily answered all their inquiries, smiling wistfully as he recalled how the once great city had bustled with the voices and laughs of many dwarves and Men, how they had worked and played with equal fervor.

“Those were happier days,” he said, and Thorin, who had been studying the face of the door intently, reached out and clasped his shoulder.

“They will be again,” he said, his voice sure. “Once we have reclaimed our home, once my birthright is restored to me, we will make Erebor as great as it ever was. Gold will once again flow in and out of this city like water; we will mine and we will craft and we will be happy.” He turned back to stare at the door again, his eyes far away. “It shall be as it was in the days of my grandfather, and his father before him. A mighty kingdom such that few have seen, with such riches as cannot be counted.”

Bilbo frowned. While some of that sounded fine, better than fine, to him, he didn’t really care for all the talk of riches. _Give me a warm fire and a good book over gold any day_ , he thought, _or better yet, a hot meal and a soft bed_ , but he could see that his opinion was not the majority of this particular grouping. They were all nodding along with Thorin, and though one or two looked slightly less entranced than the others, all of them had perked up at the mention of the riches contained within the mountain. _I suppose they wonder at your getting excited about books and growing thinks_ , he thought, then grinned. _Well, maybe not Ori, when it comes to books._

As the day neared its close, each of the Company took to fidgeting. They stood, they paced in front of the door. Finally the last rays of the setting sun were shining upon the door, and they all watched with avid stares for a keyhole to appear. Kili gripped at Fili’s arm in excitement, and Fili was too excited himself to shake him off. Ori whispered something to Dori, who hushed him.

Nothing happened. The light hit the door, and no keyhole was revealed. There was nothing that even suggested that a key might fit in the door at all. No matter how they strained their eyes, the door in front of them remained impossible to enter.

“No,” Thorin said quietly, dismay coloring his voice. “No. We did not come all this way for nothing. We will break it down first.” So saying, he took up one of the axes provided by Laketown and struck at the door. The others followed his lead, and soon the air was full of the sound of metal ringing against stone. Bilbo got out of the way quickly, his hands over his ears.

The ringing finally stopped. The door remained as impassable as every – there wasn’t even a chip or two gouged out of it to show for their furious efforts.

Balin signed. “That’s it, then,” he said, bowing his head. He was the first to turn away from the door, head low. His shoulders heaved once and then went still, and he walked away slowly, never lifting his head. Dwalin and Bifur followed soon after, the latter shaking his head and speaking softly and rapidly. Dwalin nodded, then quirked a half smile. The others followed after, their shoulders hunched, leaving only Thorin and Bilbo standing by the door.

“But…that can’t be it,” Bilbo said, bewildered. “We-we came all this way. You were-that can’t be all there is. We missed something.”

“We missed nothing,” Thorin answered, his voice heavy with disappointment. “’The last light of Durin’s Day shall shine upon the keyhole’. That’s what it says. It’s worthless. False.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry we brought you all this way for nothing, Master Baggins. We will of course see you home safely, though I am afraid that we can’t provide the payment we promised.”

“You can’t really think I’m here for the treasure, Thorin.” Bilbo looked up at the door, then shook his head. “No. I refuse to believe that’s it. There’s something we’re missing, that’s all. Something we haven’t seen.”

“There’s nothing. It’s done.” Thorin finally turned away himself, ignoring Bilbo as he shouted after that he couldn’t give up so easily.

“No,” Bilbo said to himself, pacing. “No. Gandalf would not lead us on this quest for nothing. There’s something that we haven’t seen or don’t remember, is all. If we could just think of what it is…if we could just _think_.” Thorin seemed to be correct, however: the sun had long since set and there had never been a sign of a keyhole. The map and key were worthless. Bilbo slumped against the wall and tears filled his eyes as he thought of his friends, of all that they had risked and all that they had been through to get to that point. They had left behind their families on the promise of home, to be rewarded with nothing but a cold stone slab that kept them from it. He thought of their dejected faces; thought of Thorin finally accepting defeat, and buried his head in his hands.

He stayed there long enough for the sun to finish setting. He was drained, and he wanted to sit longer, but he knew that the others would want to leave as soon as possible. Still, he didn’t want to go down to them. It felt too much like giving up, even though logically he knew that it was over, there would be no triumphant return to Erebor for his dear friends. He took a step forward, but paused at a sudden movement next to him.

There was a thrush, of all things, perched on a rock not two feet away. It pecked at the ground a moment, then picked up what looked like a small nut and started tapping it briskly against the side of the mountain. Bilbo stared.

“'When the thrush knocks…'” he whispered. They’d forgotten. They’d forgotten the thrush. A sudden idea occurred to him, and he looked up. “'The _last_ light of Durin’s Day. Of course; the sun isn’t the only thing in the sky that shines.” He laughed giddily. “Come back!” he called to the others as loudly as he could, “It’s the moon, the moon! Hope is not yet lost; the last light of Durin’s Day is shining upon us!” He studied the door, and yes, he could see it now. The keyhole was right there, on the left side of the door, at the perfect level for a dwarf to open. Bilbo kept his eyes on it, half afraid that it would disappear, and yelled again. “Hurry! I see the keyhole!”

After what seemed like hours but in reality was probably only a few minutes, his friends joined him, breathing heavily, hesitant hope in their eyes. Thorin looked at the door, taking in the sight of the keyhole finally within sight, then turned back to Bilbo, eyes wide.

“I should have-“

Bilbo waved this off impatiently. “Not the time, Thorin. Hurry, open it before you can’t.”

Thorin nodded. He pulled the key from around his neck with something very like reverence, then, much too slowly for Bilbo’s peace of mind, he put the key in the lock and turned it. The sound of the lock disengaging was loud in the night, everyone having gone absolutely still as they watched. Thorin took a deep breath, then pushed the door open.

~****~

They were all eager to go inside, of course, but Thorin insisted that they wait until the morning. “We’ll have to send our burglar in first, and I don’t doubt that he would rather make the attempt in the morning.” Despite his own words, Thorin spent much of the night at the opening in the mountain, peering fruitlessly into the dark tunnel beyond, as though he could catch a glimpse of the halls of the city if he only tried hard enough. The rest wandered by it at intervals, glanced in and then hurried away as if they thought they would be punished for looking too long. Only Balin lingered; he spoke quietly with Thorin for a time, both of them looking serious but happy.

Bilbo stretched out on his bedroll early, but once again found he could not sleep. His head was full of the day’s events, of finding the door and then the keyhole, of being able to help his friends again. He was also nervous about what the morrow would bring. He wanted to do his best, and he was much more confident than he would be if he didn’t have his Ring, but there was still a chance that if he found a live dragon within the walls of Erebor, he might not make it back out.

He turned over, trying to put it out of his mind. This move put the entrance back in his view, and he noticed that Balin had left Thorin to his thoughts again. Bilbo could not see his face, for he was looking away, into the mouth of the tunnel. Bilbo watched his profile for a moment, then made a decision. Careful not to wake the dwarves slumbering around him, he slid from his bedroll and made his way to his brooding King. Thorin heard him coming and turned from the tunnel to give him a smile.

“it seems that once again we owe you a debt,” he said softly. “We would have gone back to our kin defeated, believing that our only chance to reclaim our home had been a farce, had you not persisted in staying up here and looking for the answer. I don’t know how we’ll repay you for it.”

Bilbo sat next to him, thinking. “Well, you could start with a soft bed and a large meal,” he said with a grin. “But I wouldn’t be too hasty in thanking me. There’s still the matter of the dragon.”

“There is, at that. However, I am certain that you will do very well. There doesn’t seem to be much that you do not manage to overcome.”

Bilbo ducked his head. “There are one or two things,” he muttered, then took a deep breath. “Thorin, about what I said in the caves of King Thranduil…”

“I understand.”

“You do?”

“Yes. And after thinking upon it, I have decided that you were being wise.”

Bilbo faltered. “Oh. You do.” He pushed down his disappointment at Thorin’s words, furious with himself. He _had_ been in the right, and it was wholly unfair to expect Thorin to still have affection for him when he had made his position clear. He should be grateful that he would not have to make the no doubt embarrassingly awkward apology he’d been planning.

Thorin studied his face, a small smile still lingering on his mouth. “Yes,” he agreed. “I do. This is no time to be thinking of an unexpected attachment to a fussy little hobbit, not when I am trying to retake a kingdom. After, though,” he continued, and Bilbo’s head snapped up, “when we have restored Erebor to what it was; I think then would be a good time to entertain such ideas.”

Bilbo stared. His heart was beating wildly and his face felt hot. He opened his mouth to say he knew not what, then closed it and shook his head. He took a deep breath, forcing his fluttering stomach to calm down. “I thought you’d changed your mind,” he said, not quite liking how small his voice was but unable to help it. “Not that you shouldn’t have,” he hastened to add, “I just thought…”

“Yes, well. You’ll find that a dwarf’s mind, once made up, is a very hard thing to turn. The heart even more so.” He gave Bilbo a smile. “I’m hoping that your resolution proves easier to sway. But that is a discussion for later. I can be patient. Do you think that you can sleep now? It wouldn’t do for you to face a dragon while tired.”

Bilbo shook his head. “He tells me all of this, then asks me to sleep.” He shot a glance at Thorin, who was smiling at him with enough fondness to make him feel a bit light headed. “Oh, fine, I’ll try.” He stood. “There’s still the matter of the curse, you know. You have to understand that if you died, I couldn’t…” he faltered, looking down.

“There is that,” Thorin agreed, “but what _you_ have to understand is that with stubbornness comes hardiness. You may very well find that I manage to survive your curse.”

Bilbo nodded, but he wasn’t really paying attention. His head was spinning. This was too much. Damn Thorin for springing this on him! Damn him for finding the courage to bring it all out into the open when all Bilbo wanted to do was keep it hidden. He didn’t know how to do this. He had spent too much of his life believing that he would never have to worry about his family’s curse, too long thinking himself safe from the feelings which would make the curse a danger, that he had no idea how to handle them now. Telling Thorin that he _couldn’t_ had been the easiest way he could find of ensuring that the curse would not affect him…but now he wondered. Did it really matter so much if he kept his distance when he still loved Thorin so? He thought not.

He sighed. Thorin was right; this really was not the time to be thinking of such things. He would do his best to put it out of his head, and they would revisit it once things were more settled, one way or another. “But don’t think this means that you’ve won any point,” he muttered as he left.

Thorin’s soft laugh of amusement at his words was enough to warm him in spite of the dying fire, and to his surprise Bilbo found sleep came easily, with no dreams of an angry dragon to mar it. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those who commented and kudosed! I will try to answer comments tomorrow, but for now it is late, and I am tired, so I am posting and going to bed.
> 
> Please do let me know what you think!

As a much younger, more carefree hobbit, Bilbo Took-Baggins had often found himself in scrapes that made his friends and neighbors question his sanity. That child, they would tell each other in exasperated voices, has a death wish. Who ever heard of climbing a tree so high that the branches wouldn’t hold you? What in all of Middle-Earth did he think he was _doing_?

“Like as not he was searching for fairies or some such nonsense,” Peony Proudfoot would sniff to her daughter as they worked together in the garden. “It’s a wonder he only broke his arm falling out of that tree. If I ever catch _you_ doing something that dangerous you’ll never see the outside of his house again.”

Her daughter had replied meekly that she wouldn’t, and the subject had turned, but a variation of that same conversation was likely had by all parents and children following that particular adventure of Bilbo’s. For a time his friends had stayed away from him, worried that their parents would assume _they_ were climbing trees, and Bilbo had been miserable. His mother had laughed merrily.

“They’ll come back soon enough,” she assured him, “it’s only that their parents worry, you understand. They don’t quite know what to make of you. That’s okay; they don’t know what to make of me, either.” A fond look stole over her face as his father came into the room. “The only one who ever did was your father,” she said, and Bungo had smiled at her.

“Well, now, that’s not quite true,” he said in his soft, measured voice. “There are plenty of things about you that I don’t understand. I’m having a good time figuring them out, however.” He’d come over and pecked her cheek, ruffled Bilbo’s hair. “You’re a good lad, Bilbo,” he said, “and curiosity is not so bad a thing, after all.”

Bilbo wondered, as he picked his way delicately over piles of gold, what his father would say if he knew that his son was currently deliberately walking very close to a large dragon. He doubted it would be anything good.

Thorin had pulled him aside before he’d entered the tunnel that morning. “We have no proof that Smaug is alive, but there is no need for you to risk yourself. What we really need is proof that the treasure is still there. Don’t risk yourself; grab something small and come back out. Smaug is not to be tangled with.”

“Right,” Bilbo had answered. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.” He had been very glad that his voice did not shake and betray his nervousness. Now that the moment had come, he had been more grateful than ever for his little ring. With its help, he need not deal with the dragon at all, he was sure.

Thorin had hesitated a moment, looking around a little furtively, then spoke. “Should you…there is a stone, within the mountain. It is larger than most, and almost seems to glow. If you should see it, I would very much like you to bring it to me. Don’t go _looking_ for it,” he added hastily, “Just, if you should happen to come across it…”

Bilbo had nodded, and then almost before he knew it he had been walking up the tunnel, escorted by Balin.

“Now, laddie, there’s nothing to it,” Balin had said, and _his_ voice had been shaking. “You’re small and quick; there’s no reason that Smaug should even see you. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

They stopped where the mouth of the tunnel widened into a room. “Here is where I’ll leave you. Be careful, laddie.”

Bilbo had forced a smile and clasped Balin’s arm. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he said, then took a deep breath and stepped into the room. There was a pause behind him, then the sound of heavy footsteps hurrying away down the tunnel. Bilbo took a deep breath, then slipped on his ring.

The city within the mountain was vast, and had the others not thought to give him an idea of where he would be going Bilbo might have gotten lost. Luckily they had told him how to find the main hall, which is where they thought Bilbo might best be able to get at something to bring back to them, and he found it with little trouble. He entered the room and stared, mouth dropping open.

The room glowed with a faint golden light; Smaug had somehow moved most, if not all, of the gold into the area, and it covered every available surface in a giant pile. Even one step forward would place Bilbo on the gold. In the center of the room the gold bulged slightly. That area pulsed in and out in a regular rhythm, and just underneath it Bilbo could make out blackish-red scales. _Smaug is alive then_ , he thought, but it held little surprise. He had expected something like this. With a small sigh he cast his eyes around, looking for something to pick up and take back with him.

A small, jewel encrusted cup lay near him. Bilbo reached out and grabbed it, and as he did his eye caught on something glowing slightly to his right. He tilted his head to look properly, and there it was, not five feet away. The Arkenstone. The jewel that Thorin had sent him in to find; the stone so precious that he hadn’t been able to convince himself to wait until the dragon was taken care of to obtain it. Bilbo looked between the stone and Smaug, assessing the risk. Smaug appeared to be asleep, and the Arkenstone wasn’t far. If he was very careful and quiet, he was sure he could retrieve it without being caught.

He moved forward cautiously, checking to see that the dragon lump remained unmoving with ever small rustle of clothing or clink of coins. The dragon did not stir. After what seemed like forever but was probably only about a minute, he reached the glowing stone. Up close it was even more impressive: a pure white stone shot through with lodes of red, the center almost seeming to pulse with an orange red glow. Bilbo picked it up and held it to the light, transfixed for a moment, then hurriedly placed it in his pocket. Time to leave. He turned to go.

There was a clinking of many coins next to him as the dragon raised its head. It tilted it’s head, focusing one giant orange eye where Bilbo stood.

“Leaving so soon?” it rumbled. “I’m sure you’d agree that it’s bad manners to enter a home and take something valuable without even stopping to introduce yourself.”

Bilbo slid to the side as fast as he could, taking refuge behind a large chest. “I only wanted to keep from disturbing your slumber, O Smaug, “ he replied, “for though I wished to look upon your fierce and mighty form, I did not want to cause you inconvenience.”

“You came to look upon me, little thief?” Smaug asked, sounding amused. “Then why do you cower and hide. Please, come out and see me, and allow me to see you, as well.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t!” Bilbo cried. “I am very small, and unworthy to be seen next to Smaug, the Greatest and Terribleist of Calamities.”

“I think I will be the judge of that. Pray, what is your name, my tiny new friend-the-thief? You know mine; I would have a fair exchange.”

Bilbo was at a loss. He did not want to give the dragon his name, but he had to answer, and fast.

“I, I am called many things,” he said. “I am Barrel rider, Spider Slayer, and Troll Tricker. I have travelled over hill and under dale, through wood and water. I have braved the dungeons of elves and the lairs of goblins and Gollum-things, all to meet you, O Smaug the Splendiferous.”

“Now, let’s not get carried away,” Smaug answered. “Tell me, brave little Rider, if you have come here only to gaze upon me, then what is my treasure doing in your pocket?”

Bilbo’s eyes widened. “T-treasure?” he stuttered. “In my pocket? What-“

“Do not lie to me! I know each piece of treasure in my possession and I know that two of them currently reside in your thieving little pockets. I knew this day would come; I’ve known for years. Would it surprise you, my little Rider, little Slayer, to know that you positively _reek_ of dwarf?” A large tail came lashing down inches from Bilbo; he shrieked and fled while Smaug laughed.

“Yes, little thief, liar, betrayer, I know who you are with. I know what it is they want, and had I a mind to allow you your life, I would have you tell them that they shall never receive it.” He chuckled, and it began to grow very warm. “As it is, fire and your charred little corpse should convince them quite nicely.”

Bilbo had just enough time to get out of the dragon’s way before fire belched from its mouth, singing the hair on the tops of Bilbo’s feet and causing his hands and arms to blister where they were uncovered. His jacket smoldered slightly, and he beat at it with panicked hands, skittering away as fast as he could.

“Still alive?” Smaug cried, delighted. “You _are_ a quick one! Run, unseen Rider, and perhaps you will escape with your life. Your friends, however, won’t be so lucky.” It rose up to its full height, and Bilbo noticed in a half aware, half panicked way that there was one spot high on its breast that appeared to be missing a scale. _That’s where we’ll have to aim_ , he thought deliriously, then registered what had been said.

“What do you mean, my friends?” he asked, sliding behind a tall column so as to be out of the range of fire. “It is true that I traveled with a Company of dwarves for a time, but we split up just outside the Mirkwood and I haven’t seen them since. They were heading somewhere else.”

“No, they were not. The escorted you here to die for them, and die you shall. But no matter, it was not of them I spoke. They will be easily dealt with once I show your new friends the consequences of aiding thieves.”

“No! No, don’t; they didn’t know what I was doing, that I was coming here, they only wanted to help!” Bilbo cried, flying out from behind the column. He couldn’t let the innocent people of Laketown suffer, not if he could stop it. He tugged the ring off of his finger. “Here I am! If you want to punish someone so badly, I’m right here!”

Smaug regarded him coolly. “You care about them,” it said. “They helped you and you do not want to see them suffer; you feel you owe them a debt.” It smiled, and to Bilbo that smile was the most frightening thing that had happened yet. “I don’t think I will kill you now, little burglar,” it said. “No. You will keep. First, I will destroy Laketown, then your dwarven friends. Then, little burglar, I will come for you. Do try to run; it makes it much more fun.” And with a great roar of fury, Smaug rose into the air, pushed himself out of the main hall, and was gone. 

 “No, oh no,” Bilbo cried, and ran after. He had no hope of catching the dragon and even less of stopping it, but he ran all the same. At the mouth of the tunnel he collided with Thorin.

“He has gone. Smaug has left the mountain!” Thorin cried, his eyes alight. He gripped Bilbo’s arms “At every turn you surprise me. How did you manage it, Bilbo?”

Bilbo shook his head, trying to speak through his gasps for breath. “No. No, no, no, He’s…he’s angry, he knows they helped, we have to do something.”

“Bilbo, I can’t understand you. What are you saying?”

He struggled out of Thorin’s grasp and stared at him with wide, terrified, eyes. “He’s heading for _Laketown_! He’s going to destroy it, to punish them for helping us. We have to help them, Thorin!”

Thorin’s eyes widened; he bowed his head. “There is nothing to be done,” he said. “We cannot return fast enough to be of any assistance; the best we can do is get ourselves killed as well.” He paused, then, “We can try to send some notice with a thrush, perhaps, though I doubt it will beat Smaug there.”

“Better than nothing,” Bilbo cried, “Hurry!” He took off down the tunnel, Thorin close behind, and when they got out they located a thrush as speedily as possible and gave him the message, Bilbo only just remembering to add that Smaug had a plate missing before the little bird was off.

“Find Bard, if you can!” Bilbo yelled after it, remembering his solemn face. Bard had believed in the dragon; he would not waste time with unnecessary doubt.

Thorin watched it go, then sighed heavily. “May the wind favor that little bird; may it find its way speedily to the town and give them our message. May they listen, and be saved.” He turned to Bilbo, his face suddenly eager. “Did you see it, Bilbo? The treasure, was it still there?”

Bilbo stared. “Yes,” he said slowly, “the treasure is there, in the main hall. I found-“

“What? What did you find?”

Bilbo hesitated, looking up at Thorin. There was something in his eyes that Bilbo did not like to see. He reached into his pocket.

“I found a cup,” he said, pulling it out and showing them all. Thorin took it; he studied it a moment then passed it on to Fili, and it continued to pass from hand to hand as Bilbo spoke. “I grabbed it and tried to leave, but Smaug must have heard me, because he woke up and I had to hide. But he knew I was there, and he knew what I’d taken.” Bilbo bowed his head, tears filling his eyes as he thought of the suffering that was about to be brought down on the heads of the people of Laketown. “Now he’s after them and it’s all my fault.”

“You can’t think like that, laddie,” Balin said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “The dragon would not have slept much longer; it is not in their natures to be dormant for long.”

Bilbo shook his head. “I know you’re trying to comfort me, and I appreciate it,” he said, “but Smaug is going after Laketown because they helped us, and because he knew that I-I care about what happens to them.”  He stared off the way that Smaug had flown, and could just make out the sight of a tiny black speck shooting flames. He clenched his fists.

The others surrounded him and they all watched for what felt like hours, each hoping to see the black speck fall, but it did not. They packed tightly together as though they were freezing, their eyes wide  and terrified as they watched Laketown burn. Bilbo soon began to give up hope. It was over; the thrush had perished in its mission, or Bard had died before he could be told of the scales. Bilbo wanted to bury his face in his hands, but he refused. This was his fault, and he would force himself to watch every single agonizing moment of it. He did not know it, but he had begun to cry. Bofur reached out and grasped his arm; Bilbo groped for his fingers and held them tightly without looking away.

“Mahal’s sake,” whispered Gloin, “Will it ever stop?”

Bilbo shook his head. “Not until the entire city is reduced to ashes,” he replied, voice choked. “Not until-wait! Wait, did you see that? Just now! It fell! The dragon fell, I saw it!” He strained forward, pulling out of Bofur’s grasp and nearly dangling over the edge of the cliff they were standing on. More than one pair of hands pulled him back as his friends cried out in alarm.

“I think he’s right!” Ori yelled excitedly, thumping Bilbo on the back. “The dragon Smaug has been felled!”

“It was your message, Bilbo; it told them how to stop the dragon,” Fili said, beaming, and Bilbo shook his head.

“That wasn’t my idea, it was Thorin’s. Thorin! The dragon is dead.” He turned to share a grin with him at the good news, then frowned as he realized he was nowhere to be seen. “Where is Thorin?”

“Over there, near the mountain,” Kili answered, pointing. “He started that way the second you said you’d seen Smaug fall, Bilbo.” He laughed, “He must be in a hurry to air out the stench of dragon.”

Bilbo did not laugh. Nor did Balin or Fili, he saw, though the others seemed amused enough at Kili’s statement. Both were staring at Thorin’s rapidly retreating back with faint frowns creasing their foreheads.

~****~

As the days wore on, Bilbo became more and more concerned with the way Thorin was acting. He had thought that the king would want to begin the process of rebuilding Erebor right away after taking it back; that he would at least wish to fortify it and make some rooms inhabitable for the company. Thorin, however, had other ideas. Everything was postponed in the search for the Arkenstone, and what time wasn’t spent searching was spent in counting the massive amounts of treasure that lay within the hall; counting and cataloguing and though it pained Bilbo to think it, gloating. Thorin’s mind was consumed with wealth, and he could see little else beyond his obsession.

Worse, the madness was starting to affect the others. The more time that they spent counting gold and gems and looking, always looking for the heirloom which they would not find, the more their eyes began to glow with the same fever that was in Thorin’s. They began to care less about other things: Ori quit making hints about visiting the library, Bombur complained less about his stomach, the grumbling about lack of sleep trickled to nothing. Even Fili and Kili seemed to take less joy in their normal mischief, though whatever madness had infected the others appeared to affect them the least. Bilbo suspected that Kili’s infatuation with the elven lass and Fili’s subsequent worry had something to do with it.

Kili would often steal away outside to gaze into the distance and brood, and Fili was never far behind, so they were the first ones to notice that Dale had become populated once again, this time with refugees from Laketown. They called Bilbo outside to look first.

“They’re going to come here to ask for help,” Fili said, “to claim their share of the riches of Erebor. I do not think that Thorin will like that much.”

“No,” Bilbo said absently, looking at the fires being built in the ruins of the old city. “I don’t think he will.” He looked at the other two, who were both fidgeting. “I don’t understand why you’re telling me this, to be honest. In the end, it’s Thorin’s decision whether or not to help, isn’t it?”

“We-ell yes, but we hoped that if _you_ were the one to tell him, things would go more smoothly-“

“-considering you’re the only one he listens to anymore-“

“-the only one who can pull his attention from the gold-“

“-or the Arkenstone-“

“-so you might be their only hope!”

Bilbo stared. “You’re joking,” he replied flatly. “You’re going to send me in there on the hope that Thorin might listen to me. He never listens to anything I say.”

“That’s not exactly true, though,” Fili said earnestly. “He does listen to you. He actually manages to pay attention to you for about five minutes every day, and that’s more than the rest of us get.”

“You might not realize, because he usually saves the love-sick looks for when you’re not paying attention,” Kili added with a grin, but it was a shadow of his old one. Too little sleep had put dark circles under his eyes, and he leaned against the side of the mountain as though it was the only thing propping him up.

Bilbo frowned at him. “Have you been taking care of yourself at all?” he demanded.

Kili waved him off. “Never mind me; I’m just tired.” He smiled slyly. “I’ll promise to get some rest tonight if you promise to talk to Thorin.”

Bilbo sighed. “Fine, I’ll talk to him. Not that it’ll make any difference. But both of you are going to get a decent night’s sleep if I do, understand?”

“Yes, Uncle Bilbo,” they chorused, and Bilbo rolled his eyes.

Figuring there was no time like the present, Bilbo left the two and went to seek out Thorin. He wasn’t hard to find, as he hardly ever left his treasure, but Bilbo planned on making him this time.

When Thorin caught sight of him, his face lit up. “Bilbo!” he cried, striding forward, and Bilbo thought for a moment that he might actually listen to him.

“Have you come to help?” Thorin asked. “We could use your eyes.”

“What? Oh, no, I’m not here about that. Thorin-“

“You have not once helped us search,” Thorin said, eyes narrowing. “Why is that, Master Baggins?”

Bilbo sighed. “If it means that much to you, I’ll help later. But first, I wanted to talk to you about-“

“Why later? Why not now?”

“Because I’m trying to talk to you, Thorin!” Bilbo yelled, exasperated. The small amount of chatter that had been going on around them ceased as everyone turned to stare at the two of them. Lowering his voice, Bilbo continued, “Because I’m trying to _tell_ you something, if you would but listen. Because the people of Laketown need our help, and I was hoping-“

“The people of Laketown are here?”

Bilbo ground his teeth together. “No, they are not,” he replied, forcing himself to speak calmly. “They are currently in Dale, but I think that at some point they will-“

“Everyone! To the gate!” Thorin cried, and moved past Bilbo, his face hard and cold. Bilbo watched him go, shaking his head. He had a feeling that when the people of Laketown did make it to Erebor, they would not like the welcome they received.

Thorin insisted that they place a watch on Dale, so they were well aware when the elves joined the men in Dale, and fully prepared to receive the lone rider that came to them early the next morning. Bilbo recognized Bard from a distance and let out a small sound of relief. Thorin heard it and shot him a dark look. “You know that man?” he asked, and Bilbo nodded.

“We met on our last night in Laketown. He bought me a drink and we spoke a bit; he was the one I sent the thrush to.” He hesitated, then recklessly pushed forward. “They were very hospitable, the people of Laketown, weren’t they? Very accommodating.”

Thorin did not answer, merely turned his head to watch Bard ride up.

“Well met, King Thorin,” Bard called up to him. “And how are you faring this morning?”

“Well enough, Master Bard.”

“I am glad to hear it. I wish I could say the same for my people. Will you not speak to me?”

Thorin made a slight nod and moved down the stairs to where there was a small place in which the two of them could speak. Bilbo could not make out their words from where he stood, but he could see Thorin’s face grow more and more cold, and he could tell by the tone of their voices that the argument was growing heated. Finally Bard said something that made Thorin snap. He yelled at him to get away before an arrow was put into his head, and he reared back from his own spot in a fury, his face a thundercloud.

“So this is what the word of Thorin Oakenshield comes to?” Bard cried. “Make no mistake, if you do not aid us you will have your war.” He climbed back on his horse and rode back to Dale, where Bilbo knew he would have to tell his people as well as the elves that there would be no help from the dwarves of Erebor.

Then what Bard had said registered. “War?” he asked, and Balin let out a small sigh.

“Those people deserve some recompense for what we brought on their heads,” he said, “and they will be willing to fight for it. Without our help they may not survive.”

“Then they should ask the elves, as they seem so willing to help,” Dwalin retorted, and the others made noises of agreement.

Balin shook his head wearily. “You know as well as I do what King Thranduil is hoping to gain from aiding the folk of Laketown. He hopes to lay claim on a share of the mountain’s treasure – there are gems here which he has always coveted.”

“I don’t care about Thranduil,” Bilbo said, “but we do owe the people of Laketown. Why can’t Thorin see that?”

“You best stop talking now, Burglar, before you get yourself in trouble. Those that don’t know of what they speak would do better to keep their mouths shut,” Dwalin told him, glaring. Bilbo looked around and noticed that none of his friends seemed particularly friendly, all of the sudden. Only Balin and Kili looked like they agreed with Bilbo at all, and even their glances were reproachful.

He put up his hands in surrender. “My apologies. I meant no disrespect. I just want to repay our debt, is all.”

Dwalin’s expression softened. “I understand, but that isn’t your decision.” He smiled. “When we find the Arkenstone, Thorin will calm down. He’s just upset because we haven’t found it yet.” He clapped Bilbo on the shoulder, then headed off to resume the search, all but Balin following.

The old dwarf looked very troubled as he gazed towards Dale, and Bilbo checked over his shoulder to make sure the others were gone before asking quietly, “Do you think that Thorin would be better with the Arkenstone? If we were to find it, I mean?”

Balin shook his head. “Thorin sees that stone as the symbol of his right to rule. His grandfather felt the same, and his greed for it drew a dragon down upon us. No, laddie. I do not think that having the Arkenstone would do anything less than make Thorin’s sickness even worse.” He wiped at his eyes absently. “I had hoped that the gold lust would not touch him; that he would be able to resist it. He had to go through so much, I thought that surely he would be able to fight the madness that has always run through his line. It seems I was wrong. It has taken hold, and I fear that nothing will loosen its grip.”

“Is there no way to make him see sense?”

“Greed is a powerful thing, laddie. His grandfather lost a kingdom to it and still it consumed him. I do believe that Thorin is stronger than his grandfather; but I cannot guess what it would take to knock the sickness loose. It might take a war.” And Balin turned his head back towards Dale, lost in his own thoughts.

Later that day Bilbo was summoned to Thorin’s side as he wandered about, pretending to look for the Arkenstone but in truth pondering all that had happened since they had opened the door. He went to Thorin with some reluctance, not wanting to deal with this new Thorin who could not see reason. He was pleased to see that his friend’s eyes were mostly clear, however, and he was holding something behind his back.

“I want you to have this,” he said, and brought his hands around with a flourish to show off a brilliant mail coat made of some sort of shimmery material. “Mithril,” he said, handing it over. “It is the strongest material that we have ever crafted; when you wear this, no spear or arrow will pierce where it covers. Try it on.”

Bilbo took the mail and slipped it over his head. It went nearly to his knees, and he smiled, thinking how ridiculous he must appear. He turned the smile on Thorin, ready to share the joke, but the look on the other’s face stopped him. Thorin did not look like he thought the sight of Bilbo in a mithril coat was amusing in the least. There was something fierce in his eyes, something almost greedy, but not the same greed that the gold inspired. _This_ greed caused Bilbo to shiver, and not only with fear. “Thorin,” he started, and then found his arm grasped and his body steered into a small alcove, away from the rest of the Company.

“I’ve been thinking,” Thorin said, and Bilbo’s mouth went dry. Had the sight of Bilbo in mithril somehow broken through to the old Thorin Oakenshield? Could Thorin really be asking what it seemed, right now, once again at the worst possible time? What would he say if he was? Should he do what his heart wanted and accept, even if it brought them both nothing but pain?

 He was so focused on his own whirling thoughts that he missed Thorin’s next sentence. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said, I’ve been thinking, and I know now why we haven’t found the Arkenstone. One of them is false. One of them has betrayed me.”

“One of them…Thorin, you can’t be serious.” Bilbo felt very foolish indeed. Of course Thorin’s mind was still on the Arkenstone; it would take more than Bilbo Baggins to divert his thoughts. “They are your friends; your kin. They followed you all this way because they love you, and now you want to believe them false? Think about what you’re saying!”

“Then why haven’t we found it? We’ve searched everywhere, and have nothing to show for it. How is that possible, if one of them has not taken it?”

“You’ve hardly searched everywhere; that’s not possible. The stone could be anywhere. It could be buried at the bottom of all this gold. No one has betrayed you, Thorin.” Bilbo bit his lip uncertainly, then plunged ahead. “I’ve been thinking as well. It’s occurred to me that I also gave my word to the people of Laketown, that I would repay them for the kindness that they showed us.

“It was nobly done,” Thorin agreed, grasping his shoulder and giving a light squeeze, “but I fail to see how-“

“Well, I was thinking…why don’t we give them my fourteenth share?” Thorin stared at him, and Bilbo hurried to explain. “A fourteenth of this vast treasure is far more than I could spend in twenty lifetimes. I really don’t need it all, so I was thinking that we could perhaps let the people of Laketown have it, to rebuild. I’d feel much better if that were the case.” He looked up hopefully, but Thorin’s face had closed down.

“You do not want your share.”

“It isn’t that, truly. It’s more that I don’t _need_ all of it, and if it could help prevent war…”

“Did Fili put you up to this?”

Bilbo blinked, bewildered. “What? No, of course he didn’t. I came up with this all on my own. Thorin-“

“Where were they,” Thorin said, his voice harsh, “when Smaug first came? Where was the sympathy of men when we were the ones starving, burnt and begging for even a scrap of food? Where were they through the years that followed? Oh, they offered us food and warm beds enough when they thought they stood a chance to gain, but when there was no hope of a reward beyond doing a kindness, they turned us away, and you would have me part with my treasure to satisfy their greed? No, I think not.” He turned away from Bilbo and strode down the hall. “If you have no need for your share of the treasure we will be glad to hold on to it, and please tell my ungrateful nephew that heirs can always be changed.”

Bilbo stared after him, mouth open. “Of all the pig headed, unreasonable, stubborn…hold on to it indeed! As if he ever intended to part with even a coin; not the way his mind’s been poisoned. Heirs can be changed, can they? Poor Fili, he must have tried to talk some sense into Thorin as well. I do hope he didn’t take anything that Thorin said to him to heart; he is not himself. Well, Bilbo Baggins, your great plan came to nothing. What now?”

Bilbo found a spot by himself. He sat down and thought for a long time. Once or twice he pulled out the Arkenstone and stared at it, lost in thought. It was a pretty gem, to be sure, but it was still just a stone. He turned it over and over in his hands, and as the sun set over the mountain, he suddenly realized what he had to do.

That night, after all the others had finally given up preparing for the morning’s battle and gone to sleep, Bilbo snuck away. He waited until he was out of sight of everyone then slipped on his ring, hurrying to drop a rope over the side of the mountain and climb down. He had to be swift; he had to finish his task and be back before first light.

It seemed to him, as he ran, that there was a voice in his ear, encouraging him to simply get away. What did he owe any of them, really? The voice asked. He’d done his part. He should take the Arkenstone and the ring and go, disappear into the night and leave the others to their fate. Bilbo shook these thoughts out of his mind - they frightened him because they did not sound precisely like his own – and sped up. He reached Dale late into the night, and he hoped that Bard would still be awake at such a late hour.

He was. In fact, he was in an audience with King Thranduil and none other than Gandalf, and they all stared in amazement when Bilbo appeared in front of them. Bard and Gandalf smiled to see him, but Thranduil merely regarded him coolly.

“And how did you get in here, when I left specific instructions that we were not to be disturbed?” he asked, and Bilbo sketched a small bow, hurriedly pocketing his ring. He thought he saw Gandalf’s eyes track the movement, but they glanced away so fast he could hardly be sure.

“I have my ways, Majesty,” he answered, “and I’d be glad to explain them to you, but now really isn’t the time.”

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed, but Bard grinned. “A nice way to get around the question,” he said with some amusement, “and one that I might not let you get away with, were you not so very correct. There is little time for explanations that can wait until later. I don’t think you came here with the leave of your King Under the Mountain.”

“No,” Bilbo agreed, “Thorin will not yield. He will fight you over the gold in the mountain, and he will die. I-I wish to prevent that, if I can.” And he reached into his pocket and brought out the Arkenstone.

Three sets of eyes widened as they beheld the stone, glimmering softly in the candlelight. “You are far braver than I would have thought, Master Baggins,” Bard said finally, meeting Bilbo’s eyes. “I have heard tales of this gem, and I cannot believe that he parted with this willingly.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Thranduil snapped, impatient. “Obviously it was stolen.” He gave Bilbo a disdainful glance. “Tell us why we should trust a thief to keep his word.”

Gandalf started to speak, but Bilbo interrupted. “I’m no theif. Well, I am, but I haven’t taken anything that wasn’t owed me. Thorin promised me a fourteenth of the treasure; I took this as my share.” He looked at Bard. “If you take this to him and offer to trade, he will. He values it more than anything, at the moment. Only, don’t be too hard on him; don’t tease him unnecessarily. He is not himself.”

“And what if we were to take the stone and be on our way?”

Bilbo looked at Thranduil calmly. He did not know why the elf wanted to provoke him so badly, but he refused to rise to it. “You won’t. What would be the point, when you have someone who would be more than willing to pay any price for it so close? I do think that there are things in the mountain you want, but this stone is not one of them. I don’t know why you dislike Thorin so much, but I do know that in spite of it you’ll offer to trade the stone, because it is the best option.” He gave Bard and Gandalf a smile, and nodded at Thranduil, who he had greatly impressed with his words and actions, though he did not know it. “And now I must be getting back before I am missed. Good luck.”

“Will you go? Thorin’s wrath will be fierce when he finds out. If you wish it, you may take refuge with us.” The offer, surprisingly, came from Thranduil, and Bilbo offered him a tentative smile.

“I know that he will be furious, but I cannot betray him twice over. Thank you for the offer, but I must go back.”

Thranduil returned the smile, and Bard shook his head. “I wish you would stay,” he said, “but I can tell you will not change your mind. Good luck, brave Bilbo. I hope that everything works out peacefully.” He took Bilbo’s hand in his and gave it a firm shake. “You are a rare sort of fellow; would that there were more in this world like you.”

Gandalf stood. “I will walk with you for a time,” he said, and ushered Bilbo out of the tent.  They walked in silence for a while, and then Gandalf stopped. “I can’t join you just yet,” he said. “There is much to be done before the morning. Are you sure you will not stay? Thorin will not lightly forgive what you have done.”

Bilbo sighed heavily. “I know. But I can’t steal away into the night; I can’t. I have to hope that he is able to forgive me.”

“It is not his forgiveness you should be worried about, it is his temper. I worry that he may harm you.”

“Harm me? Thorin? I know that he’s succumbed to gold madness, but surely I needn’t fear he will harm me.”

Gandalf looked at Bilbo gravely. “You do not understand how bad of a temper Thorin Oakenshield has. If I thought I could keep you safe by demanding you stay with Bard and Thranduil, I would, but I know you would just sneak away. But be careful, Bilbo.”

“I will, I promise.” Bilbo reached up and curled a hand around one of Gandalf’s wrists; he squeezed lightly. “I have a feeling everything will turn out fine.”

“You are a very good sort of fellow, Bilbo Baggins, and very brave,” Gandalf said wryly, “but you’re an awfully bad liar.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy. And please don't forget to let me know what you think. :)

It felt like he had barely closed his eyes when he was being shaken awake again. Bilbo grumbled and turned over, doing his best to ignore the voices urging him awake. He had had a long night, and he was tired. He wanted to be left alone, but the hands and the voices would not allow it. They kept at him until he sat up, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and blinking blearily around him.

“You have to get up now, dear Bilbo,” Fili said, unsmiling though his words and tone were cheerful enough. “The Men and Elves are coming, and there is still much to do.”

Bilbo’s stomach jumped. He scrambled up and looked around. Save for Fili and himself, the room was empty. “Has everyone else already gone to the armory?”

Fili nodded. “I volunteered to come and wake you. Thorin agreed.” His mouth twisted, and he lowered his head. “He believes that I plot against him, you see, and so wants me out of the way as much as possible.”

“That is ridiculous.  Fili, look at me.” Fili shook his head, so Bilbo gripped his chin and made him look him in the eyes. “You have to know that Thorin does not mean what he says. He’s been driven mad. He will regret his words when he is well again.”

Fili jerked his chin out of Bilbo’s grasp. “He thinks I do not understand, that I do not feel the same pull that he does when he looks upon our wealth.” His eyes gleamed. “He is wrong. Of course I feel it; but I see what it has done to him, and I will not let it do the same to me.”  He shook his head. “It is no use to speak of it. Come, we must go. We must prepare for war.”

“There’s nothing that anyone can say to sway him, is there?”

“No. Any who try will only earn his anger and mistrust. He will have his war.” He gave Bilbo a small, bitter smile. “Best be up, Bilbo. It is not long before we fight.”

They all reported to the gate’s edge to watch the men and elves march to them, Bard and Thranduil in the lead. Bilbo raised his eyebrow at Fili when he saw the animal that Thranduil was riding. “An elk? Does he have something against horses?”

Fili’s mouth twitched with sudden humor. “They are not quite _majestic_ enough, I’d wager,” he whispered back.

“He looks so ridiculous, though.”

Nori, standing next to them snorted, which earned him a glare from Thorin.

The army stopped within hailing distance. “I will ask you one more time, Thorin, son of Thrain, to aid us of your own free will. My people are tired and heartsick; we do not wish to fight with you this day, or any other. We would have peace, if you would but allow it.”

“If _I_ would allow it? You may have all the peace you like, Master Bowman. All you need do is turn back, and cease this demand for gold that is not yours.”

“I would say again that you gave us your word that you would remember the aid we provided, but I can see that your word means nothing.”

“My word is bond to those that deserve it!” Thorin snapped, and grabbed Kili’s bow from his hands. He shot an arrow down, and it bounced off of the ground very near the horses. “The next shot won’t be so harmless,” he warned.

Bard inclined his head. “As you wish, King. It was not my inclination to do this, but you give me no choice.” His gaze found Bilbo’s and he sent him a regretful look before he beckoned two men forward with his hand. “I believe I have something that might make you more disposed to help us.”

Between they carried a chest, which they set down in front of Bard. He dismounted and bent to open it, and Thorin laughed. “There is no bribe you could offer that would make me change my mind. You would do better to sell whatever you have in that chest, and use those funds to begin the rebuilding process yourselves, instead of begging for aid where you deserve none.”

“I would not speak so hastily, Thorin son of Thrain,” Thranduil said with a smirk. “You may yet regret your words.”

Thorin bristled. “I regret nothing I’ve said to you yet, Thranduil,” he snarled, “and if you think-what is that?”

Bard had opened the chest. Inside lay the Arkenstone. It seemed to glow with an inner fire in the sun, the red even more pronounced in the light.  The entire Company immediately began shouting. Thorin did not shout. He simply stared, his hands clenched into fists.

“Enough,” he said, and everyone immediately ceased. In a voice that was only being held in control by the smallest thread, Thorin asked, “How did you come upon that stone?”

“Will you make an exchange? We are not greedy, we only want-“

“You only want. _You_. I will not listen. I will listen to nothing you have to say. Thieves! Traitors! Standing there demanding that I keep my word when all this time my Arkenstone was in your filthy, thieving hands! You’ll die for this!” With a roar of pure rage Thorin grabbed for another arrow.

Bilbo flung himself forward. “Stop it, Thorin! He did nothing wrong. I did it! It was me!”

Thorin did not react for a moment, then he slowly turned to look at Bilbo. “What did you just say?” he asked in a soft, deadly voice.

Bilbo took a step back, frightened in spite of himself. “I took the stone to Bard. I took it as my fourteenth share of the treasure.” He lifted his chin. “I wanted to give them gold, but you refused. Now you must trade them my share.”

“Your share,” Thorin repeated in that same tone. “Your share. Let me remind you, _thief_ , that the only share you to be paid you is what I was willing to allow.” He tilted his head. “I see now why you came, why you made yourself invaluable. Curse, you said, and I believed you. And all this time, you were after something far more precious.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bilbo snapped, “What would I want with the Arkenstone? It’s a rock. I gave it to them because you’re _sick_ , Thorin, you’re mad, and you refuse to see sense.”

Thorin let out an ugly laugh. “I think I’m seeing more clearly than I ever have,” he said, “Curse you, Bilbo Baggins. Curse you and all hobbits with you!” He lunged at Bilbo, hands outstretched. Bilbo scampered back with a little cry. His coat was seized from behind and he was yanked off of his feet, pulled back behind the others as Dwalin grabbed one of Thorin’s arms and Kili the other, trying to hold him off.

“Go, Bilbo, go,” Bofur whispered, pushing Bilbo towards the wall. “Climb down and get to safety. I think he really means to kill you.”

Bilbo nodded and scrambled for the wall. When Thorin caught sight of him he let out a cry of rage. “Running away, thief?” he called furiously. “Running away from your punishment?”

“Punishment?” came a mild voice from below. “I do not think that will be necessary. However, if you find that you are finished with my burglar I will take him back. In one piece.” Bilbo peered over the wall to see Gandalf looking serenely up at Thorin.

Thorin sneered at him. “Go,” he told Bilbo, then to Gandalf, “Take him, by all means. I’ve no use for him any longer.” He gave Bilbo a dismissive look. “Not that he was of much use in the first place.”

Bilbo flinched, but hurried over the wall and down to Gandalf, who patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll be all right, Bilbo,” he said, then raised his voice as he spoke once again to Thorin. “You’re making a fine figure as King Under the Mountain. Almost as fine a figure as the dragon, I’d wager.”

Thorin’s face flushed. “I’ve had just about enough of wizards,” he said, “and their council.”

From the distance came the sounds of many feet moving at once. Thorin smiled as he looked in that direction. Bilbo tore his eyes from him to look himself, and saw hundreds of dwarves streaming towards them, axes ready.

Gandalf sighed. “Dain,” he told Bilbo, striding forward to meet them. “Thorin’s cousin from the Iron Hills. It would seem that Thorin did not intend to try and take on the men himself, but called upon his kin for assistance.”

The dwarves stopped about a hundred feet from the elves and men. They raised their axes; the men their swords and the elves their bows.  Gandalf moved even faster, fast enough that Bilbo could not keep up, not even by running. When he was neatly situated in the middle of the combatants, Gandalf began to speak, his voice somehow loud enough to be heard by all assembled.

“While I appreciate that you have your quarrels, this is not the time, nor is it the place. While you stand here arguing over gold and silver, an army of wargs and goblins has been marching steadily forward, determined to claim the mountain as their own. Whatever disagreements you may have – “ and here he shot a look back towards the mountain, where Thorin still stood “-I think we can all agree that they should be set aside in light of this new threat. Stand together, and you shall defeat this enemy.”

 For a moment, all was silent. Then Bard spoke. “The men will fight.”

“The dwarves will fight beside you.” Thorin and the rest of the Company had joined them while Gandalf had spoken. Thorin’s face was grim and determined; he did not look at Bilbo.

“As will the elves,” Thranduil agreed with a slight tilt of his head. He caught Bilbo’s eye and gave him a smile. “You really are very brave,” he said, “but this is no place for one such as yourself. Let one of us take you somewhere safe.”

Bilbo thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “I can find my own safe spot,” he said. “I am much smaller than you, and easy to overlook so I should have no trouble finding somewhere to stay out of the way.”

“You’d better do that now,” Gandalf said. “They are coming.”

Bilbo fled. Once he was certain that all eyes were on the approaching warg and goblin army, he put on his ring.

He had thought he had seen danger before; that he had known fear. He had been afraid so often during the journey that he almost felt it was an old friend. But as he watched the battle rage before him from his relatively safe hiding spot, he realized that he had been spared the worst of it. When he had been fighting orcs and spiders, thinking up riddles for Gollums in caves, and trying to keep a dragon from incinerating him he had been forced to compartmentalize, to push the fear to the back of his mind and focus on surviving. Safe, with nothing to occupy his mind, the fear was almost too large to contain. If it had been only for himself, he might have been able to bear with it better, but the greatest share of his terror was for the others. His friends were out there, fighting for their lives. He might lose them.  They could die on the field of battle and he would never know until it was all over and their bodies were found.

He had wedged himself in between two large rocks; it was the perfect hiding spot for an invisible hobbit, but he found that he could not stay there. He had to get a better view of what was going on; he had to be able to see more than what the narrow gap between his rocks afforded. He scrambled out of his hiding place and up onto one of the rocks. Holding up one hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun, he searched out his friends.

The carnage was worse than he had thought. Everywhere he looked, there were dead, both foe and friend, and still the enemy kept coming. It seemed that for every orc or goblin killed, two more were there to take its place. The battle had moved into Dale, he noticed, which had split their forces. His eyes kept wanting to return to the ground, to the bodies that lay upon it. He forced them away. He had to look for his friends. He had to know that they were alive.

He spotted Dwalin first. The burly dwarf was fighting with deadly precision, cutting down orcs left and right. Near him were Balin and Nori. Farther down the field he spotted the red hair of Gloin, and even over the din of clashing swords he could hear Bifur yelling. Ori and Dori were fighting near each other, and so were Bombur and Oin. Bofur he nearly didn’t find, and he almost panicked until he spotted his friend swinging what looked like a war hammer near where Gandalf was mowing orcs down with a combination of staff and sword. He had lost his hat.

Fili, Kili, and Thorin were all fighting near each other, the former two moving back to back with an easy efficiency that suggested years of fighting in a similar way. Thorin was a few yards away, locked in a battle with the pale orc. He wore no helm or mail that Bilbo could see, and his face was a mask of blood.  He was tired; it was obvious, as was Azog’s triumph.

“No, oh no,” Bilbo whispered, and moved before he was aware of it, sliding down off of his rock and making for where Thorin fought. He pulled Sting out of its makeshift sheath and plunged into the battle, doing his best to avoid colliding with any of the moving bodies but slashing at enemies where he could. More than one man, elf, and dwarf was surprised to find the org or goblin that they had been fighting suddenly felled by an unseen sword as he went by, but Bilbo was hardly aware of how it looked. His vision had narrowed to a point, and at the end of that point was a visibly struggling Thorin.

He was nearly there when someone or something knocked into his back and he went to his knees, sprawling out in dirt made muddy by blood and sweat. He scrambled up, turning to defend himself, and saw that he had been hit by a falling goblin, cut down by the red-haired elven maiden that Kili was so fond of. Her eyes searched the fighting hordes desperately; Bilbo knew that look, and knew who she looked for. She found him and her face relaxed, then tightened in horror and dismay. “Kili!” she screamed, and Bilbo whipped around to see Kili arching towards the sky, a curved sword protruding from his chest. Blood dripped from the side of his mouth and ran down his chin; he struggled briefly then sagged, his body slumping forwards.

Fili’s cry of pain was loud and terrible to hear. He turned on the tall orc who had slain his brother, snarling. The orc smiled. Fili advanced, but an arrow caught him in the back and he fell. The tall orc advanced, weapon raised. Fili struggled to his knees, raising his axe, but the orc was already upon him. His sword flashed.

Bilbo screamed, darting forward, but it was too late. The tall orc knocked Fili’s body aside in an absent way, and then swords and knives were flashing as the she-elf fell upon him. Tears were streaming down her face, but still she worked with deadly efficiency, and Bilbo knew that the tall orc would not survive the encounter. 

He turned away. He had to get to Thorin.

Thorin had not seen his nephews die; he was still battling the pale orc, but Bilbo could tell that he was nearly spent. Up close, he looked even worse, his face matted with blood and covered with abrasions. His body seemed little better, and Bilbo found himself wondering how he was even standing, let along finding the strength to fight.

“You are defeated, Okenshield,” Azog said with a cruel laugh. “Even if you win this fight, your line is destroyed. Your sister-sons have been killed; the line of Durin is no more.”

“You lie,” Thorin snarled, but Bilbo could tell that he didn’t believe it. A horrible pain was leaking into his face, and he staggered slightly.

Azog laughed again. “You know I do not. Let us end this, Thorin Oakenshield. Here, now. Let it be done.”

Thorin nodded, raising his sword. “Yes. Let it be done.”

Bilbo raised his own little sword, ready to spring at Azog, but before he could take even a step he was once again slammed into from behind. Before he could get back up something hit him in the back of the head and he lost consciousness.

He woke with his head pounding. He was still on the field, and there was plenty of action, but the fighting was done. Man, elf, and dwarf were combing the battlefield for survivors, and as Bilbo sat up he saw several tents set up with what appeared to be elves inside, doing their best to aid the wounded. They had won, Bilbo realized, but it didn’t feel like a victory. Not when so many lives had been lost, not when Bilbo could hear many voices rising in grief as they learned someone they loved was dead.

Bilbo removed his ring and put it in his pocket, then did his best to stand. His head screamed and his vision swam; he let himself fall back down for a moment. He touched the back of his head gingerly, and winced when his fingers encountered a large, painful lump.

“There you are, Bilbo,” Gandalf seemed to appear out of nowhere, and he startled Bilbo into jumping, which made his head pound all the more. “If you are able, you should come with me. Thorin wishes to speak with you.”

“Thorin? Is he…” Bilbo peered up at Gandalf and lost his breath. Thorin was dying. It was written all over the wizard’s face. Bilbo went light headed; his stomach dropped and he felt like he was going to be sick.

“I will need your help,” he said, his voice shaking “for my legs don’t seem to want to hold me up. Please, take me to him.” When Gandalf did no more than nod and lift him to his feet, Bilbo knew that the situation was even direr than he’d realized.  He gripped onto Gandalf’s arm tightly and made his legs move.

Gandalf helped him to a large medicinal tent. The Company lingered outside of it, saying nothing, their heads all down. A little farther off, Kili and Fili had been placed on makeshift cots; Kili’s elf was leaning over him, working steadily on his wounds despite crying so hard her entire body was shaking. Bilbo prayed that she would be successful in saving him. He was surprised to see Thranduil leaning over Fili – hope surged through him. Perhaps all was not lost.

In front of Thorin’s tent sat a dwarf he did not recognize. He gave Gandalf a nod as they passed by, and stared at Bilbo with frank interest. Bilbo hardly cared; once the tent was opened he had eyes only for the figure lying on the makeshift bed. He let go of Gandalf made his way over on legs that were none too steady, his eyes flooding with tears.

Thorin looked awful. There was not much of him that was not wounded:  there was a deep gash running down the right side of his face, bandages that seemed to be doing little to staunch his bleeding completely covered his torso, and one of his arms was in a makeshift sling, as it had clearly been broken. Bilbo took the uninjured hand in his own, and the eye that wasn’t swollen shut opened and fixed on him.  

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, and tried to smile. “You came.”

Bilbo shook his head. “Foolish dwarf. Of course I came.”  He blinked rapidly; he would not cry. Not now.

“I did not know if you would. I was…unforgivable. The things I said and did - the way I treated you and Fili – it was unpardonable of me. I wouldn’t blame you had you stayed away. You should hate me, you should loathe the very sight of me, and yet here you are. I should be content with that, but I cannot. I would part from you in friendship, Bilbo Baggins, if it is at all possible.”

“I think you’ll find it is,” Bilbo replied, squeezing Thorin’s hand tightly.

 “You are too generous, my friend.”  Thorin smiled painfully. “Would that I had listened to you. If I had, things might have turned out very differently. Erebor might have been rebuilt, Fili and Kili would be alive and whole, and you and I…” He shook his head and winced. “No matter now. I destroyed it all. I did not tell you, dear Bilbo, but my family is under a curse as well. Ours goes by the name of greed, and I have fallen victim to it.” His eye fluttered slightly, he let out a small sigh. “I am very tired. I think I will rest. I only wanted to see you, and to apologize, and to hear your voice.” He squeezed Bilbo’s hand weakly, then his eye closed and he was still.

Bilbo’s legs abruptly stopped holding him up; he folded to the ground, still clutching Thorin’s hand. Something hard and painful was trying to claw its way out of his throat; he curled in on himself and pressed his hand against his mouth, trying to hold it in. It was no use; it escaped through his hand as a keening wail. Outside the tent, those who heard it knew that Thorin Oakenshield had passed from Middle Earth, and they mourned.

Bilbo tried to curl tighter into himself. The pain was enormous; he did not know how to deal with it. He began to sob uncontrollably, unable to stop even when he ran out of breath to do so. Gandalf tried to pick him up, to lead him away, but Bilbo kicked out at him and was let be. He wasn’t ready to let go of Thorin yet. He didn’t know if he ever would be.

Was this what that long ago Took had felt when she’d cast the curse? He wondered, as he tried to gasp in even a tiny amount of air amidst his sobs. Had she cursed her love because she felt like she was breaking, like something had been so damaged inside of her that she would never fully recover? Bilbo didn’t care. _You were selfish_ , he thought at that long ago Took. _So your heart was breaking; did it really give you the right to wish this pain on the rest of us? You should have wished for happiness. You should have prayed that none of us would feel this pain because we’d be too happy with those we love. We should be happy. We_ will _be happy._ “We _will_ ,” Bilbo whispered, half delirious, “We _will_ be happy, and loved, and _safe_.” He gipped Thorin’s hand even more tightly and began to rock, repeating the sentence faster and faster until the words were coming so quickly that they were nearly unintelligible. Gandalf, who had kept his distance after Bilbo had lashed out at him but had not left the tent, became alarmed. He reached out to grasp Bilbo’s shoulder, but he did not make contact before Bilbo let out a loud cry and then quietened, having finally given in to the combined strain of his body and mind and passed out. His hand slipped from Thorin’s and fell by his side. 

Gandalf gently picked up the small form of his friend and went to find him a bed of his own. Outside, the dwarves mourned for their king and worried for their princes and burglar, and the elves and men mourned their own dead and worked tirelessly over the wounded, none of them knowing that once again, a hobbit’s particular brand of magic had caused the very fabric of the world to ripple.

Bilbo slept and his friends watched over him, all unaware that in a medical tent not far from where they were all gathered, Thorin’s heart - obeying a command that the heartsick hobbit hadn't even realized he'd given - had begun to beat once more.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry for how long this took, and the worst part is that I can't even promise that it will be good. Writer's block hit me hard and I am doing my best to tunnel my way out, but I really can make no promises.

He dreamt that he was back in the Shire, once again living in dear old Bag End. There was a fire crackling merrily in the fireplace, and he had before him a good book and an even better dinner, but he hardly cared. All of his attention was focused on the seat across from him, where one Thorin Oakenshield sat, smiling fondly.

_This isn’t fair_ , he thought furiously, blinking back tears. _I don’t want you here when I know it isn’t real_. And yet he did. He wanted Thorin however he could get him, whether he was real or imagined.

“I love you,” he said, the words wrenched out of him. “I have for so long. I should have told you, should have stopped being afraid.” He smiled, and the tears fell. “It didn’t matter either way, did it? Between the two of us we sealed our fates very well.”

Thorin frowned at him, and Bilbo laughed weakly, dashing at his eyes. “Even in my head you give me that look. You were much nicer to me before I knew you, you know. You were also a pretty lass, of course.” Thorin frowned harder. “Oh, did I never tell you? I wished for you. Long, long ago, when I realized that love would only end in misery, I made a list. A long list, full of impossible things. At least that is what I told myself. But I was wrong. You were all of those things and more. I’ll not be making a saint out of you, mind,” he added sternly, shaking his head. “You were very difficult at the best of times, but you…I thought you might survive it.” He sighed. “More fool me.”

He gazed at Thorin’s face for one more long moment, then closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he found himself in a soft bed, surrounded by his friends. When they saw that he was awake, the all began to talk at once, their words running over each other as they all tried to be heard at once. The voiced got louder and louder, causing the pounding in Bilbo’s to worsen. He closed his eyes against it, and winced when Oin roared above the others to shut their traps, already, didn’t they see that Bilbo needed some peace and _quiet_?

“Well, I’m sure yelling right next to his ear did wonders for him, then,” someone muttered, and Bilbo’s eyes flew open, seeking out the speaker even as his mind told him that he could not have possibly heard what it sounded like he’d heard. _You’ve had a hard time of it,_ he cautioned himself, even as his eyes desperately searched, _you’ve hit your head and had a bit of a break down, so you can’t trust yourself to know what you’re hearing or even seeing, you can’t…_ but the thought faltered as his eyes finally lit on the dwarf who had spoken. He stared, mouth hanging open, and Kili gave him a half smile.

“You…you’re here,” Bilbo said dumbly, still staring. “You’re alive.”

Kili’s smile widened. “It would appear so,” he replied, “though it was a close thing, or so I am told. I don’t really remember much, to be completely honest. All I really remember is that filth coming at me, and then nothing until I woke up.” He shrugged one shoulder, but made no further comment. Bilbo looked him over. His left arm had been secured to his body, and the fingers on that hand had a weird, limp quality to them that he didn’t like, but otherwise he looked okay. A little pale, and a lot tired, but okay. Bilbo could hardly believe it.

Kili seemed to read his thoughts. “I am here, Bilbo. Alive and well,” he said, reaching out and grasping one of Bilbo’s hands with his own. Bilbo squeezed his fingers.

“I know, I know. I’m being silly, it’s just…I  thought you were dead, Kili. We all did, and Fili…” Bilbo trailed off, his eyes filling with tears at the thought of his friend.

“Fili went and nearly got himself killed because of it, aye, and so did Thorin,” Kili finished, rolling his eyes. “Fine revenge, that. Fat lot of good it would have done anyone had it worked. But those two have always been idiots.”

A hand flashed out of the mob surrounding Bilbo and smacked Kili upside the head. “Oi!” he cried, indignant. “Injured brother you’re hitting here!” The hand made a rude gesture, and Bilbo’s eyes followed the line of the arm it belonged to until he was confronted with another face that he’d thought he’d never again see. His neck and half of his head was encased in bandages, but it was unmistakably Fili who was grinning back at him, and Bilbo felt tears prick his eyes as he reached out the hand that wasn’t being held by Kili towards his brother. Fili grasped it and gave it a hard squeeze, his own tears coming at the sight of Bilbo’s.

“King Thranduil saved him,” Balin said, and Bilbo started, having forgotten that the others were there in his joy at seeing the other two alive and whole. “He worked on the lad even when all hope seemed lost, and refused to quit until he was breathing again. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He shook his head. “I feel like I have to like him a little after seeing that.”

Bilbo gave a small laugh, squeezing the hands he held tight. “I am glad,” he said. “I am glad that Thranduil is stubborn, and that you are alive, and well, and here in front of me now.”

Both brothers beamed at him, and then Oin was kicking everyone out so that Bilbo could get some rest. He almost didn’t want to let Kili and Fili leave, but he was very tired, and could hardly keep his eyes open. But after everyone had left, everything that he had been told finally registered and Bilbo found himself feeling quite awake, after all.

Had Thorin lived, too?

Impossible, surely. And yet…Kili had spoken of _both_ Thorin and Fili as idiots. And everyone had seemed in decent spirits, despite their wounds. _Would they be so if Thorin had died in that tent? I can’t imagine that to be true, but if so…if so, why was he not here? Why did he not come to see me…and how did he survive, when I actually felt him die in that tent?_ Bilbo could not rest without knowing the answers to his questions. He began to slowly, painfully get out of bed. Everything ached, and he was unsurprised to note that he seemed to be covered in bruises. He felt like a giant bruise.

He was halfway out of the bed when Kili poked his head back in the room. “I knew you’d be up to something like this,” he said, and pushed Bilbo back into the bed despite his protests. “Stop, Bilbo, settle down. I’ll tell you everything, but you have to stay in bed. You’re too weak right now to go running around looking for Thorin; that is who you were intending to see, right?” He nodded with no little satisfaction when Bilbo admitted that he was correct, and tucked him back in bed. “Well now you won’t need to. Thorin is alive, as I said, but he hasn’t woken up yet. Both Oin and King Thranduil say that he will though, so don’t you worry about that. He needs rest too, is what I think.” Once Bilbo was settled, he once again took a seat next to the bed. “So. I’m sure next you’ll want a summary of our injuries. Assorted cuts and bruises, mostly. Bofur lost a finger, and Gloin took a nasty cut to the leg that got infected, but he’s on the mend. You’ve probably already noticed this,” he gestured to his tied arm. “I can’t move it at all. They don’t think that I will ever be able to.” His mouth twisted. “I know that I should feel lucky to be alive – that I should be glad that the orc didn’t get my heart – but I can’t help but think that I’ll be useless now. “ He shook his head. “I don’t understand how Fili can stay so cheerful, either. He can’t speak,” he explained before Bilbo could open his mouth. “The orc cut his throat too deeply. He can’t speak, and his face is…well. Thorin’s, too. He lost an eye. Bilbo, sometimes I think that all we lost wasn’t worth this. I think it would have been better had we not survived.” Tears stood in Kili’s eyes but didn’t fall; Bilbo reached out and grasped Kili’s good hand in his own.

“Do you really wish that?” he asked sadly. He remembered his panic in the tent with Thorin, his furious denials of his friends’ deaths, his rocking and crying out. He wondered if perhaps he was the reason that they had all lived, and if he had perhaps done them a disservice. Perhaps they really would be better off, happier, if they had been allowed to die during the battle.

But Kili  was shaking his head. “No, I don’t really wish that, “ he admitted. “If I were dead I wouldn’t have Tauriel.” He smiled suddenly, wide and bright. “She is amazing, beautiful and lovely, and she says she is mine. She doesn’t care if I have the use of my arm or not, she’s just glad I am alive. We’re to be wed.” The smile faded from his face. “If Thorin will let us, that is. He might not.”

“He will,” Bilbo said with determination. “I’ll see to it.” Then he realized what he had said and blushed. “I mean, I will talk to him for you, of course…not that he’s any more likely to listen to me than you.”

Kili sent him a sly look. “He isn’t? Does that mean that we get to keep you, too, Master Baggins?”

Bilbo picked at his blankets, flustered. “I don’t, that is I can hardly-this is really not the time to be talking about such things. He isn’t even awake; he might still be angry with me.”

Kili laughed. “I don’t think that you really believe that. But you are right; it should be put off until the two of you have a chance to talk, at least.” He waggled his eyebrows and leered at Bilbo, who laughed.

“Stop it, you. Get out and give me a chance to rest before Oin comes in here and yells at you for keeping me up.”

Kili laughed and did as he was bid, and Bilbo settled into mattress with a sigh, his mind finally ready to let him sleep.  


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end.

“I am so tired,” Fili told Bilbo, falling into the chair beside his bed in an undignified heap. “Rebuilding is hard work, and all I want to do is sleep. I tried to tell Balin that I need to recover, but he won’t listen.” He rolled his shoulders back and groaned. “I cannot wait until Thorin is well enough to take over. I’m beginning to understand why he was always scowling.”

“Has he woken, then?” Bilbo asked, trying to sound nonchalant and failing by about a mile, if the fond amusement on Fili’s face was anything to go by.

“No, but both Oin and Thranduil say that it is just a matter of time.” Fili grinned suddenly. “You should see them, Bilbo. They argue about every little thing. Thranduil wants to try to heal him one way (that involves a lot of leaves, from what I can see), Oin another (he has this salve, it’s experimental but he’s sure he’s onto something), and in the end he gets _both_ treatments because neither one will bend an inch. Listening to them argue is some of the best entertainment that I get in the day.” The smile faded from his face. “Better than dealing with Dain and his lot, at any rate. They feel that I am too young and inexperienced to rule. I’ve been told several times that a dwarf so young cannot possibly have the wisdom required to rule a kingdom.”

Bilbo raised a brow. “They’ve actually said this to you directly?”

Fili laughed. “Subtlety is not something that they are known for, I’m afraid. I’m almost tempted to let Dain try it. Could you imagine him dealing with the elves?” He shook his head. “Thranduil barely deigns to listen to me; he would never give Dain even that much. And Kili is no help. He spends all of his time mooning over that she-elf of his, never mind that there is a kingdom to rebuild and a brother who could really use his support.”

Bilbo bit back his smile and patted Fili’s shoulder. “He’s in love, Fili. Surely you can understand that. It doesn’t mean that he’s forgotten you.”

“Hmph,” Fili scoffed, not meeting Bilbo’s eyes. “I don’t care who he spends his free time with, not at all, but there’s work to be done and he’s _shirking his duty_.” Bilbo said nothing, and he sighed. “She does make him very happy,” he admitted reluctantly, “and honestly he does do what he can to smooth things over with Dain and his people. I just...I miss him, is all. I want him to help me and he’s never there.”

All urge to laugh was gone. Bilbo reached out and grasped Fili’s hand where it rested on top of the blankets. He gave it a squeeze. “Things will get better, Fili. Thorin will wake; Kili and Tauriel will settle and remember that others exist. Erebor will be rebuilt.” He smiled. “You are doing a wonderful job, I am sure. Thorin will be very proud.”

Fili smiled back. “I hope so,” he said, “though I wish that he would wake sooner than later.”

“I know. We all do.”

Bilbo was not lying, but he wasn’t telling the full truth, either. He was half-terrified that when Thorin woke up he would once agan be the cold King Under the Mountain, and not the Thorin Oakenshield that Bilbo had come to know on the journey.  He worried that once he realized that he was going to live, Thorin would revert back to hating him, and that was something that Bilbo could not bear.

It didn’t help that he continued to dream of Thorin each night, and that the Thorin in his dreams had only laughed and given Bilbo a fond look when he had apologized for the way that he’d gone about securing the Men their share of the treasure. _You were right to do so_ , that laughter and gaze seemed to say. _I was being a brute; you should have locked me in one of Erebor’s many rooms and let Fili take over._ Bilbo smiled to himself. Well, maybe not _exactly_ that.

“What is it?” Fili asked, mouth quirking slightly. Bilbo sent him a questioning glance and he shrugged. “You were smiling.”

“Oh, was I? I suppose I was just thinking of Thorin’s reaction should Dain and his company dare tell him how they feel regarding your right to the throne.”

Fili’s eyes dropped. “Maybe he will agree with them,” he said, his voice heavy. “He had little use for me, before the battle.”

“No. Fili, no.” Bilbo was still holding Fili’s hand; he gave it another squeeze. “You can’t think like that. Thorin was half-mad with gold sickness. He didn’t mean any of it, I’m sure.” He bit his lip. “I saw him, you know, after. He thought he – he told me that he didn’t want to part as enemies. He knew how beastly he’d behaved and he only wanted to make amends. I’m sure it will be the same when he wakes. “

Fili nodded, but he still looked unsure. Bilbo didn’t exactly blame him. It was possible that Thorin might change his mind when he woke and realized that he wasn’t going to die, after all. There was no way to tell until he woke.

He sighed heavily, and Fili visibly shook himself. “I’m sorry, Bilbo. I didn’t mean to come in here and upset you. I only wanted to come by and see how you were doing.” He gave Bilbo’s hand one last squeeze before letting it go and standing. He stretched with a yawn. “For now, though, sleep. I never thought it would be so much work just _talking_ all day.”

Bilbo frowned. “How is your throat, by the way?” Fili’s voice had come back with time, but it was a raspy croak that would probably never again sound like his old voice, and using it too often caused him pain.

Fili shrugged. “Hurts, but then it always does, anymore. Dori made me a tea that helps. I’ll drink it tonight and feel better in the morning.” He stood. “Good thing, too, because I’ll probably spend the entire day talking. Forever talking.” He made a face and Bilbo laughed, relieved. He didn’t believe the pain was as little as Fili was making it seem, but he had to trust him to know when it was getting to be too much.

Bilbo was restless after Fili left. He could not stop thinking about Thorin. Bilbo had not visited him at all since he had found that he was alive, preferring the Thorin in his dreams who might never speak but still looked alive and well to the one who would only sleep. But Fili’s words had stirred something inside of him, and he know he could get no sleep until he had at last made his visit.

Resolved, Bilbo climbed out of bed. Throwing a dressing gown over his nightclothes, he took up a candle and went in search of Thorin’s room.

He was half-afraid that he would get lost – the halls of Erebor were vast, and when he had finally been allowed to venture out of his own room he’d always had one of the company leading him to his destination – but fortunately he had been able to gather enough information from the others to assume that Thorin’s room was close to his own, and he was not wrong. He found the room fairly quickly and met Oin coming out.

“Any change?”

“Not just yet, but don’t worry. He’s apt to come out of it soon. He was pretty mangled out there, and his body needs the time to recover. But you go on in and say hi. He’d like that.” Oin gave Bilbo a wink and a friendly pat on the back that nearly knocked him to his knees, then left. Bilbo steeled himself for whatever he might find, and entered the room.

Thorin lay upon the bed, his eyes closed in sleep, chest rising and falling with deep breaths. His blind eye was still covered, but the rest of his injuries had long since lost the need for bandaging. His brow was furrowed. Almost without his permission, Bilbo’s feet carried him over to the bed and he reached out, wanting to smooth away those worried lines. “You really do need to wake up,” he said softly, letting his fingers stroke down Thorin’s face, “We are all very worried. Oin keeps insisting that you will wake but I think that the others are beginning to lose hope. I am not; I know how stubborn you are. You’ll wake up in your own good time, I’m sure.” He smiled a little, but it faded quickly. “Fili really needs you right now. Kili is lucky; he has Tauriel. She is helping him through the worst of his grief over losing so much – she’s wonderful for him, Thorin, remember that when you wake and don’t let your hatred for the elves distract you – but Fili has no one. I do my best to be there for him, of course, and so do the others, but it isn’t the same. There’s no one who can help him quite like you. If you were to wake, Dain’s supporters wouldn’t dare to say that the current King is the wrong one. And you could help him to be the King that he is going to have to be, when you are gone for real – which better not be for many years.”

Bilbo took one of Thorin’s hands in his own. Gripping it tightly, he looked away from Thorin’s face and down at their hands. “I miss you, too, and all I can think is how selfish I sound right now.” He laughed without much mirth. “Being confined to bed by a bunch of well-meaning friends gives you a lot of time to think, and really all I can think about is how selfish I’ve always been. I know now that I unknowingly drew you to me from the beginning, I think, with that stupid, _stupid_ list that I made up when I was younger. I know now that it had to be it – there is no other reason that you would have ever have looked at me otherwise. I wished for you – sent for you – and you really had no choice in the matter. And then when I realized what had happened I should have said something, but I didn’t want to lose the little I could have. Then, when you – I couldn’t let you go, even if you hated me. Even if you couldn’t walk, or see, or didn’t want to live in the first place. Me, me, me. Not once did I think about what you might have wanted. Not once did I…” Bilbo’s eyes filled with tears; he blinked them back furiously. “And even now I’m being selfish. I’d rather have you loving me in dreams than hating me in life, and that isn’t fair. It isn’t fair to anyone, so you need to wake up now, okay? Just wake up, please Thorin. _Please_.”

“I heard you the first time,” a scratchy voice replied, and Bilbo’s head snapped up. Thorin’s eye was open, looking at him, and he was smiling faintly. The hand clasped in Bilbo’s twitched, Thorin’s fingers curling weakly around Bilbo’s own. “And you’re wrong, you know.”

Bilbo let out a small, incredulous laugh, the tears in his eyes spilling over. “Am I? About what?”

“You weren’t the only one who wanted something for himself. You weren’t the only one who was selfish.” Thorin gently freed his hand from Bilbo’s so that he could bring it to his face. “I wished for you, too.”

“You did not.”

“You think I didn’t want something for myself? That I didn’t wish for someone who would challenge me, someone who would be able to understand what it felt like to lose everything? Someone who valued having a place to call home as much as I? Someone who could handle my own family’s curse? I may not have made an actual list,” and here Thorin sent him one of those fond looks that Bilbo had grown used to seeing in his dreams, “but the longing in my heart was just as strong as the one in yours. I love you, too.”

Bilbo blinked. “I…I never-“ Thorin only looked at him, and he stopped. “I should have known. Doesn’t it scare you, even a little, to know that it’s possible for me to do such…strange things?”

Thorin smiled, drawing Bilbo’s face to his own. “I think you’ll find I’m up to the challenge,” he whispered just before their lips met, and Bilbo believed that he would be.

The curses of both families had been broken, he knew. And what had broken them was a lot of struggle, and a little bit of Hobbit magic. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what to say. I am sorry it took me so long to get here. I don't know if this ends in the right place, or if it will be revisited later. All I know is that for now, it is done. I hope that you liked it, but even if you didn't, I really would like to know what you think. :) Please do leave a review. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who stuck with this story, and with me, and thank you to all those who took the time to tell me what you thought as we went along together. Believe it or not, you guys were a big part of the reason that I didn't give up when the words refused to come.


	16. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it turns out that that I was kind of right. The story needed a little something to be complete. 
> 
> Also, I couldn't help myself - I really wanted to come full circle, as it were. Hopefully it doesn't kill the fic. 
> 
> This is the end, folks. The real end this time. I hope you enjoy it.

When Frodo Baggins’ parents were killed in an awful drowning accident, there was the usual talk of what was to be done with him.

His relatives all gathered in Bag End, and after a full lunch immediately began discussing Frodo amongst themselves, seeming to forget entirely that the tiny hobbit was even in the room. The Brandybucks, a kind, generous lot from his mother’s side of the family, offered warmly to take him and house him with them. This was generally agreed to be the best idea, as Frodo was still very young and none of the rest of them felt as equipped to raise him. Brandy Hall was usually full of children, they all agreed, and surely Frodo would feel most at home there.

Frodo scowled to himself where he sat, kicking his legs irritably. He _liked_ Brandy Hall, of course he did, but it wasn’t _home_. Home was Bag End, which his cousin Bilbo had gifted to his father and mother upon their marriage and where Frodo had grown up. Home was Hobbiton, its rolling hills and its markets and its people. He did not want to leave this place that he loved, the only home that he'd ever known. He knew better than to say so, however. The Brandybucks were being awfully generous to open up their household to him, and it would hurt their feelings if he were to seem ungrateful. He only allowed himself the scowl and kick because he knew that no one was actually paying him any attention.

Which wasn’t quite true, he noted as the conversation continued to flow around him. There was at least one person in the room who had not forgotten that he was there.

Cousin Bilbo was watching him intently, his brow furrowed with concern. When Frodo met his eyes, he gave him a small smile. Frodo smiled back, relieved that it had been Bilbo who had caught his moment of selfishness, as he was the only one who would not think it so. Bilbo was a bit of an oddity in Hobbiton, the Baggins who had run off with a bunch of dwarves – and then instead of coming back, had stayed on with them and given away his home to a distant cousin instead of the local Sackville-Bagginses, who everyone knew had had their eye on Bag End for years (though privately the neighbors would whisper over garden walls that they were quite happy with the way things had turned out. If Bilbo refused to do the sensible thing and return home at least he hadn’t burdened them with Lobelia). He was a known adventurer and consorter with dwarves and elves, and for a wonder seemed to have broken the Took Curse despite turning out to be far more Tookish than he’d seemed. This, combined with the fact that whenever he did visit he would bring with him an assortment of his new friends, caused most of the hobbits his own age to give him a wide berth. The children, however, loved him, and Frodo was no exception. Though he was more reserved than the other young hobbits he looked forward to Bilbo’s yearly visit with as much enthusiasm as any of them. Bilbo was usually the only one who could coax Frodo into acting like the youth he was, and when he visited the two of them would often find themselves getting into the kind of scrapes that had his mother and father shaking their heads and sighing...but always with an amused twinkle in their eyes.

His eyes shifted to the window, and to the dwarf sitting outside. Most of the other hobbit children loved Fili and Kili for their merriment and troublemaking, or Gloin and his son Gimli, who would laugh in loud voices and swing the small hobbits up on their shoulders, and Frodo liked them as well; but his favorite of Bilbo’s friends was seldom able to visit with him. It was always difficult for the King of Erebor to take so much time away from his kingdom.

He had come along with Bilbo this time, however, and now Frodo thought that he would much prefer going outside to sit with him over staying in here and hearing himself discussed as though he weren’t present and aware. He glanced at the others out of the corner of his eye. They were still talking and paying him no mind. He caught Bilbo’s gaze; his cousin gave him a wink and tilted his head towards the door. Frodo gave him a nod and slid off of his chair.

Once outside, he breathed a little easier. He didn’t like to hear everyone arguing about where he was to go and what was to become of Bag End. They all seemed to have forgotten that his parents were gone forever, that he was alone and heartbroken and wasn’t interested in listening as everyone else made his decisions for him.

Thorin gave Frodo a small smile when he approached, and patted the bench next to him companionably. Frodo took the offer, placing himself beside Thorin and leaning into his side. A heavy arm wrapped around him, and Frodo fought against the tears that sprung to his eyes. He didn’t want to cry now, not where anyone might come out and see. He preferred to grieve in his room, away from prying eyes and questions.

He sniffled. Thorin’s arm tightened around him. “They will be gone soon,” he murmured, “and then you can breathe again.”

Frodo nodded. “I know.” He turned his head and pressed his face into Thorin’s arm, closing his eyes.

They stayed like that for some time, and Frodo was nearly asleep when the shouting began. Frodo’s eyes popped open, and Thorin gave a heavy sigh as the shouting grew in pitch, and then the door of Bag End was flung open and the Sackville-Bagginses flew out of it, their faces red and furious. They both stomped by without looking at the two sitting on the bench, though Lobelia gave a disdainful sniff as they passed. She had never approved of all of Bilbo’s traveling, she’d always told her husband; a hobbit should stay where he belonged, not go traipsing about the country like some wandering dwarf. Hardly surprising that he’d eventually taken up with one, all things considered. But why did he have to come back at all? And to give Bag End to a distant cousin instead of them, when everyone knew that by all rights it should be theirs? The insult was not to be borne.

They had shown up to this meeting for one reason and one reason only, Frodo knew. They wanted to see if they could lay claim to Bag End once and for all. They must have been informed by Bilbo that that would definitely not be the case. He had never seemed to like the Sackville-Bagginses and to be perfectly honest, neither did Frodo. He didn’t want to live with them at all, but it still stung that they could be so obviously disinterested in where he was to end up.

Bilbo followed the Sackville-Bagginses out of the house, hands on his hips. He had a pleased smile on his face. “Well, that took care of her,” he said, then sent a sheepish look in Thorin’s direction. “I know I should have tried harder to be polite, but I really cannot stand those two. Did you know what when I first returned from Erebor, I found that they had sold all of my things and were settled to move in? I still haven’t gotten back my mother’s silver spoons, and I know Lobelia has them, for all she says she doesn’t.”

“You may have mentioned it,” Thorin replied, and though he tried to sound stern Frodo could hear laughter in his voice. “And the others? Did you send them into fits as well?”

“Honestly, Thorin, do you really believe that I would? I actually quite like that lot. They're having a bite to eat, and then will return to Brandy Hall. Which reminds me.” Bilbo hunkered down a little to look Frodo in the eye. “I hate to put this on you, my boy, but it cannot be helped. There is a choice in front of you, and you’ll have to make it carefully, because though it can be changed the changing will take a bit of effort. Are you ready to hear it?”

Frodo nodded, eyes wide. He had a pretty good idea of what Bilbo was to ask, and though he loved his cousin and Thorin very much, he did not want to go with them to Erebor. He couldn’t leave the Shire, and he hoped that they would understand, and still visit sometimes. Perhaps when he was older he might be able to visit them as well, but now it would just be impossible.

“The Brandybucks would love to take you back with them to Brandy Hall. There are plenty of other children there for you to be with, and your cousins Merry and Pippin will also be there. It would no doubt be a good environment for a young lad such as yourself to grow up in, and of course Bag End would be yours when you came of age; that will not change no matter what you decide. Your other choice of course would be to live with Thorin and me.”

Frodo pulled away from Thorin slightly; he twisted his hands together in his lap, head down. “I…thank you, Bilbo, for the offer, but I…”

A large hand covered his, and Frodo looked up to find Thorin smiling gently. “We understand,” he told Frodo. He nodded his head at Bilbo, who was also smiling, if a bit sadly. “You would be more comfortable with those you know better.”

Frodo shook his head. “It isn’t that. I love you both, and would want to live with you if I could, but I do not want to leave the Shire.”

Bilbo laughed. “Is that all? My dear boy, of course you won’t be leaving the Shire. It was our intention to come to you, to live here at Bag End until you’ve come of age.”

Frodo gaped. “You would leave Erebor?” he asked incredulously. “ _Both_ of you? But…Thorin is King. He can’t just…can he?” a fragile bubble of hope was expanding in his chest. This was what he had wanted but hadn’t dared to actually hope might happen. If he couldn’t have his parents he preferred Bilbo and Thorin to anyone else, but he’d been so sure that they would not be able to stay - Thorin had his duties and Bilbo would not leave him for long - and that he could not go to Erebor, that he hadn’t allowed himself to think it might happen. He had to have heard wrong.

“As to that,” Thorin said, “I find that Fili does a much better job as King than I could ever hope to. I am thinking of letting him keep on with it on a more permanent basis.” He shrugged. “It is not often done, to be sure, but I think that it would be the wisest decision to make. Erebor needs a different kind of leader now that it is thriving again; Fili fits that role more than I could ever hope to do. And I find that it is enough for me to know that I can always return and be welcomed back to the place of my birth.” He smiled at Bilbo with so much fondness that Frodo had to look away. "I've come to think of home much differently of late."

When Frodo looked back up, both of them were grinning at him. "Does that help with your decision?” Bilbo asked, his tone clearly stating that he already knew the answer.

“Bilbo,” Thorin warned, his tone fondly exasperated, but Frodo was grinning back at Bilbo and nodding vigorously. The bubble of hope inside of him had expanded into happiness at realizing he was going to get what he wanted, and for the first time since his parents’ deaths he felt like things were going to turn out okay, after all.

Looking into his cousin’s smiling face, Frodo knew for certain that whatever else might happen, whatever his future held, living with Bilbo and Thorin was going to be a great adventure. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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**Author's Note:**

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